


To Blossom: Babes of Toussaint

by mackallackattack



Series: Misfit Garden [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Art, Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Human/Monster Romance, Human/Vampire Relationship, Illustrations, Lactation, M/M, Monster sex, Multi, Murder Mystery, Mystery, NSFW Art, OT3, Other, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Porn, Pregnancy, Sex, Smut, Toussaint (The Witcher), Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Weddings, dettlaff is a dad, dettlaff x regis learning to be intimate with each other when oc is out, emiel regis is a dad, monster cuddles, pegging vampires, spining, vampire babies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 106,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24885118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mackallackattack/pseuds/mackallackattack
Summary: The folks are back. We meet up with Dettlaff, Regis, Dacreval, and a frustratingly pregnant Maina months later in spring. Everything appears to have returned to a relative normal in Krael'ef, Maina hasn't had a lesson with Yennefer in weeks to help her hone her powers (sorceresses be busy). Regis and Dettlaff begin to collectively feel a bit territorial.When a handful of young aristocrats go missing, however, a tension sets in over Toussaint.
Relationships: Damien de la Tour/Orianna, Dettlaff van der Eretein/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Dettlaff van der Eretein/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Original Female Character(s), Dettlaff van der Eretein/Original Female Character(s), Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Misfit Garden [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800742
Comments: 210
Kudos: 60





	1. SPRING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maina and Geralt run some errands in Beauclair before she finds an unwanted guest lurking around her, Regis', and Dettlaff's estate.

* * *

SPRING

It was fragrant, colorful, and euphonious outside. Flirtatious in its invitation to summer, even. It was beautiful. It was teeming with life. It was green and everywhere.

It was reminding you that this was the longest pregnancy in the history of pregnancies. Of that you were certain. Regis had been traveling in the North for the past month because, as it would turn out, longer pregnancies call for more supplies. Your body had to make it through what could be two years of gestation without dying or harming your baby from using your new magic, and Regis didn’t want to keep leaving once this pregnancy started to advance more. Everything was fine with the baby...other than they were taking their good, sweet time. You weren’t even _showing_ yet.

And that was starting to annoy you.

Dettlaff had left with Dacreval a few hours ago to help bring ingredients back and you already really disliked him being gone. Dettlaff being gone felt like half of you was missing. Dacreval just wanted to fly around - that was indisputable. He was in quite a bat stage right now, so you chose to let him go do that flying around with his dad for one night - two at most, while he helped Regis. 

What’s a day or two?

It was good for Dacre, anyway, and you knew you’d certainly want to fly around with your dad if your dad was a cool, giant, multi-limbed, naked, eyeless…guy. You thought it was better that you stayed behind, since the two of them would be flying instead of traveling as smoke, and Dacreval spent so much time attached at your hip lately that you thought Dettlaff could use some one on one time. You knew he desperately wanted it, and it warmed your heart to the point of aching. It warmed a lot of your body parts to the point of aching...

  
  


You frowned at the piece of paper in your hand, sitting there on the flat, graystone bench next to the crow building in the Mere-Lachaiselongue Cemetery. This hadn’t been your destination perse, but you ended up here anyway. You blamed it on missing Regis. The breeze carried the sweet blooms of springtime and you basked in the new growth. It just didn’t look right.

You glanced up at Mers and checked his legs, then your drawing.

 _Yeah,_ you thought, taking your sketch implements and putting them in your satchel, _I’m not taking the time to fix this right now._

Mers’ energy was nearly annoyingly optimistic as you walked over to him, “Feels good getting outside more often, doesn’t it?”

The tall, black horse let out a whinny as you pat his neck. 

“Sorry you haven’t gotten as much exercise in Beauclair,” you frowned, feeling guilty. Then you hoisted yourself with a jump and an ‘oof’ when your stomach collided with his barrel and bounced. “ _Shit_.”

“Getting pretty good at that, I see.” Geralt was riding up on Roach, her energy was a lot less optimistic than Mers’. 

“Ah, see,” you sighed, forcing yourself to not try and use magic as you hoisted yourself the rest of the way, “it's... _all..._ just another part of mounting...when your horse is three feet too tall for you.”

“Yeah, don’t know why you decided to get one so big,” he mused, pushing Roach to fall instep as you started towards Beauclair. “Like your hair, by the way.”

Oh, you realized that you had your Geralt-length hair tied in a half ponytail, mirroring his exactly. You made a show of flourishing it, “It’s a little _too_ _fancy_ for my liking.”

The witcher’s brows pulled down, “ _F_ _ancy_?”

“What are you doing here, by the way?” you asked, looking up and down the sunny dirt path as you cleared the forest, “And why are you following me?”

“Just wanted to check in,” he soughed, “see if you were ready to give up the pretense of keeping a _normal_ job…”

“Hey!” you rebuked, “I _like_ my normal jobs.”

“Oh yeah?” the side of Geralt’s mouth slid up, “Where are you working, now? That one metal shoppe?”

 _Shit._ OK, so you’d been fired from your job at Beauclair’s one and only specialty soap and wash shoppe ‘Le Savon’.

“Um,” you blushed, patting Mers, eyes going to the foliage, “no.”

You could feel Geralt smiling at the side of your face as you looked away from him.

“Why’s that, Maina?”

_God, his voice can be the worst thing in the world._

“Just didn’t work out,” that was a lie. That was a bald faced lie and you knew it. You’d been late five times. Late five times and you miscategorized the soaps daydreaming many more times than that…

_Wait a second._

“Did you ask if it was a metal shoppe?” you turned to look at Geralt, who opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but then cocked his head instead.

“Errrr,” he blew air out of his mouth, “ _hee_ yeah, I did.”

“ _What_?” you barked out a laugh, “Geralt, because there was a metal bathtub in it?”

He threw up his hands as if to ask ‘ _what_?!’ himself, causing Roach to whinny as the two of you crested the largest hill outside the cemetery, revealing the expansive Belgaard vineyard.

“Do you think _they_ could use some help?” you nodded to the rows of grapes planted up and down the sloping hills as you approached them.

“You want to work in a _vineyard_?” Geralt shook his head. “Maina, I didn’t fire half my staff because they were ‘disgusting dudes’ _just_ so you could go and _work with them._ ”

Your lips pushed together, gripping Mers’ reins tighter. He seemed pretty interested in your occupational arrangements.

 _So_ that's _what he's doing here._

Suddenly, you had a pretty decent idea of what your good ole, tried and true _witcher_ pal was doing riding with you to Beauclair. 

You sighed, pursing your lips together against your incredulous grinning. “What’s the contract?” you asked, looking up at the clouds. You could see Geralt’s face brighten out of the corner of your eye, despite it looking like he was trying to feign indifference. 

His shoulders bobbed, “What contract _don’t_ I have right now? You wouldn’t believe it...”

You felt like he was about to start going off on a rant. 

It was a little thing about Geralt. Well, no, it was a _big thing_ about Geralt. To most people he was this composed, calm and collected...even _scary,_ witcher. Something you’d never realized was an actual thing people thought about him until rather recently. The more attention you paid to it, the more you noticed that he never acted this way around other people, really. Not around Regis, or Yen, or Marlene... It made you sad, thinking that he kept himself bottled up so much. It made you wonder why he was so reserved in the first place, though you imagined it had something to do with witcher _this_ or _that_. But it also made you happy that he felt he could confide in you. In his own kind of way.

“-actually tried to fight a wyvern off with a kitchen pot, and then came and complained to me about it as if I hadn’t explicitly stated-”

Even if it meant that sometimes you were stuck listening to him enthusiastically bitch about every facet in his life.

“...and you know what he called me?”

“Hmm?” you asked, not having really heard what he’d just said. Geralt’s mouth fell open. 

“What?” you asked. 

“I give you work, and you don’t listen to me.” He ' _tsked, tsked'_ you, chin rising, “I’m practically your boss.”

“Okay, well _that’s_ maybe a little overkill…”

A sly smirk grew on his face, as if he’d caught you in some trap. 

“So, you’ll help me take care of them?”

You sighed, and nodded, leading Mers towards the large wall of Beauclair’s Lebioda’s gate and outer burial rooms of the Temple Cemetery.

“Good.”

“Yeah,” you replied, “but we’ll have to start tomorrow.”

Geralt's brows furrowed. 

“I have errands to run.”

-

Le Savon was located on the Northeastern side of Hauteville. You thought it would have been a great place to work because of its proximity to your estate. _It doesn’t matter anymore,_ you told yourself, feeling a little guilty about having slept in so many times as you stared at the storefront. It didn’t help that Dettlaff never let you leave on time. You smiled at the thought of him.

“Hard to believe they both let you stay here by yourself,” Geralt’s voice was monotone as he hopped off Roach.

“It’s one night,” you exhaled, sounding just like you had when you explained this twenty times to Dettlaff. Then you added what he’d reminded you, _“Two at most._ Besides, it isn't like I can’t just disappear into another world where I’m the lord of lords, or whatever, if something bad happens,” you dismounted Mers, falling a foot and stumbling backwards a step on a broken cobblestone. _Fuck._

“Lord of lords…Yeah, well,” you heard Geralt slapping his gloves together, “thought Regis still might ask me to watch you or something.”

The witcher squinted up at the sign ‘Le Savon’ and the colorful storefront underneath.

“Doesn’t matter,” he added crossing the street, “Where are we staying tonight?”

You grabbed your satchel and followed after him, cocking your head, “huh?”

“Tonight. Your estate or Corvo Bianco?”

You gave him a look.

“ What ?” he opened the door for you, “If I’m not around to wake you up we won’t leave until like, dark, or something.” 

You tried to look overly appalled to make up for the fact that your recent bout of laziness and sleeping in actually was kind of a sore spot for you, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hm,” Geralt closed his eyes and lifted his brows as you walked past him and his stink into the soap and wash shoppe. You didn’t like the look on his face when he eyed the store hours. Reaching the counter set against the bright storefront window, you searched your satchel for the papers you brought along detailing your last inventory check quick before you-

Geralt rang the bell. 

_“Hey,”_ you snapped a finger at him.

“What’s her name?”

“Wha?” you looked over your shoulder, “Mirame, why?”

 _“Morning,”_ he said with a raspy, handsome gruff that was not present in his voice a moment earlier, and you noticed your former employer - a pleasant, single, and now blushing middle-aged woman from the...North? - was walking up to you. She gave you the kindest smile you’d ever received from her, and your eyelids pinched closer to each other as you peered sideways at your companion. Geralt peered back at you from the corner of his eye and _winked._

"Vello, Maina!" she flattened her skirts before placing her hands on the counter.

Her cheer took you by surprise, and you smiled back at her, but she was already looking at Geralt, who looked smugger than ever.

“Mirame, right?" Geralt asked- the woman's face brightened, and she nodded. "Mirame, mind telling me how this one,” he smiled, lifting his arm up over your head and pointing a finger _downwards_ , “got fired?”

“I accidentally left with these the other day and I thought you would maybe need them,” you blurted, beginning to lift the papers which were quickly crumpled under the weight of Geralt’s gloved hand.

“ _Mir_ am _e_ ,” he planted an elbow on the counter, leaning closer to the rosy cheeked store owner. His voice dropped a decibel, “I’m trying to prove a point to her. Why was she fired?” 

_Oh damn it all._

“Vy, She vas alvays late to her morning shift,” Mirame paused, then tilted her face at you as if she were mildly disappointed, “ _and ze early afternoon vuns._ ”

Geralt pat you on the head, “thanks, Mirame. These are for you.”

He tossed the reports you’d brought with you onto the counter and walked outside.

“Um, sorry...for... _that_ ,” you stammered, backing into the door and out of it onto the cobblestones as Geralt crossed the street. _God, he can get on a person's nerves,_ you swallowed a chortle.

“That place has some nice looking metal,” he noted conversationally when you reached Mers and you gave in, letting out a laugh. His expression became almost serious, “That wasn't _too far,_ was it?”

You weren’t making a face or anything to cause his question, and you figured being accusational was his way of checking in on emotional well-being.

“Nah,” you smiled, still wanting to laugh from how ridiculous that interaction was as you started to hop back onto Mers, failing. “I think she,” you hopped again and Geralt walked over, pushing you the rest of the way up mid-hop, “thanks. I think Mirame enjoyed it, anyway.”

“So it’s settled, then,” he hopped on Roach.

“What’s settled?”

 _“My place or yours?_ ” He gave you a fake, straight-lined grin and heeled Roach. 

_Right._  
  
  


“What are your errands here?” you asked, stopping Mers and setting your jacket on top of your saddlebags, “...and we can probably just leave our horses at my house if you want, Geralt.”

“Your _house_ ,” Geralt's eyes fluttered where he rolled them. He tied Roach to a different post and walked over to where you sat on your horse, “you live here for _two seconds_ and you already live in a…”

“You _own a vineyard_.” 

The witcher's mouth shut begrudgingly.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he reached up to grab you from the saddle, “I have to go to the contract guy and the bank.”

“Why am I being helped off my horse?” you felt a little silly as he set you on the ground.

“I dunno,” Geralt ran a hand through his white hair, shrugging, as you walked up the main road towards the palace, before he stopped at a notice board, “you’re pregnant, and I guess I feel bad for buying you a horse that’s too big.” 

“Mers is a great horse…” you replied as he ripped off a contract from the board.

You pointed at the board before the two of you continued walking.

“Is _this_ the _contract guy_?”

Geralt pointed up the street to a sign that read ‘The Ducal Camerlengo’. Oh. 

“The _contract guy_ is in _there_ . I’ll take care of that one myself. You said you had to go to the tailor?”

You frowned, and he chuckled.

“ _Weddings_ ,” he said in mock infatuation as he walked away towards The Ducal Camerlengo. “Meet you back here in a bit.”

  
  


Through the window, you could see that the street was getting busier and busier as the day reached mid afternoon and you decided right then and there in the tailor shop, that you were ready for a nap. 

_Is this dress even going to fit by the time the wedding rolls around?_ You thought, touching the small of your belly as your eyes scanned the rows of fabric. You eyed the different cuts, frowning. _You’re going to need to choose eventually, Maina._

Mid summer. That was when Regis really wanted the whole shebang to take place. It was the hottest time of the year even when one wasn’t in Toussaint and you didn’t envy the vampires for having to wear mens dress wear during it, although the heat never seemed to bother them, anyway. 

Number seven doesn’t look so bad, your eyes fell on a lightweight, lacy number in one of the ‘Cuts’ illustrations, you dabbed the quill in the inkwell and marked it off. There. That’s all I’m doing today.

You were, in all honesty, just thankful that Regis hadn’t decided to make your gown for you. It seemed like too much, to you. Especially since you might be showing again by the time of the ceremony and the last time he made you a dress when that was the case...well…

This was for the best. 

He sure was cute, though. How excited he was. Dettlaff was cute for having the absolute adverse reaction…

“Is that Francois?” Geralt asked.

 _“ Shit,”_ you stifled the gasp to a whisper as your funny bone smacked the high wooden checkout. You rubbed it, frowning at the witcher, who had evidently and silently finished his business at the bank.

You looked to the tailor and saw that he was working on none other than the Grottore-slayer Francois. You wondered if he was getting tailored for his wedding, or if he finally called it off. 

“Yeah,” you said, brows furrowing when you noticed how fine the cut of his doublet was, “...it _is_.”

“...for the Duchess’ La Fête de la Musique this summer solstice,” Francois boasted at the tailor, “I will be performing during the…”

You looked to Geralt, and saw his eyes were already wide, pursing his lips in a sile.

“I’m hungry,” you threw the paper on the checkout, “tailor knows who I am and my name is on these, he’ll figure it out.”

  
  


“Corvo Bianco,” you announced the decision over your pickled herring and capers. Geralt nodded. “I need to get my armor yet, though.”

Geralt nodded again, shuffling his gwent deck for the fifth or sixth time, not listening to you as you sat on the first story veranda of The Pheasantry, “That’s why we’re here, cause your house is close and all.”

You rolled your eyes, and your stomach grumbled. You were a little nervous about going on contracts, if you were going to be honest. Your training with Yen was going well, and you could do some simple magic by standing in the entryway to Krael’ef, but...you were still mostly just graduating from blowing out candles with it in the waking world...and that was embarrassing as it was disheartening to you. You’d put so much practice into your magic that your swordplay was seriously lacking. Magic was exhausting, though. Entering and exiting Krael’ef took its toll on you in weird ways during this pregnancy. You wouldn’t give up, though, or anything. You couldn’t, really. Besides, you wanted to be able to use magic to move your body while fighting...add a sword to that and, well… You looked up at the witcher who sat across from you. Good luck sparring with me once that happens. 

“Which contract are we going to start with?” you pushed your herring around with your fork, having lost some of your enthusiasm and appetite. Despite your better efforts you were starting to really miss Dacreval. You’d been trying not to think about him all day. And Dettlaff...and Regis. You shook your head and pronged a caper with more force than necessary.

“I’ll show you the papers and you can decide,” Geralt’s voice was absent minded, his head cocked at a lone card he was holding up in front of his face.

“Are you serious?”

Geralt finally put down his cards, “if you promise to work with me.”

_He really is lonely, huh?_

“You really are lonely, huh?” the corner of your mouth twitched, and the line of Geralt's mouth tightened.

“On second thought,” he rose, “we’ll tackle an apparent monster at the Tufo Estate. Ever been to Flovive?”

You shoveled the last bites of herring into your mouth, getting excited and replying a muffled, “mo, mever.”

The two of you walked towards your house, deciding to pick Roach and Mers back up after getting your armor. Geralt nudged you, and you looked up to see him holding two separate, slightly different shades of red linen.

“Which one is better?” He asked genuinely. Your face scrunched up.

“Is this some sort of witcher test or something?”

“What? No,” he pursed his lips, “it’s for the, uh, kitchen. Got 'em after the Camerlengo.”

He looked at the swatch and raised a quizzical brow at the words written on it.

 _“ The Ego Has Landed?_ ” he asked incredulously, “What kind of name is _that_?”

He tilted his head to the side, though, eyes looking as if he were already envisioning the color on his walls. You were just rounding the corner to the down-slope when you saw someone standing at the front gate. 

“Wait,” you put a hand to his forearm and he trailed off.

Geralt slowed beside you and you blinked. 

It was the bald head of Anna Henrietta’s first Knight, or whatever. Geralt grabbed your forearm and pulled you down an alleyway before peering back out, but you walked by him and scampered down the street another block, getting closer, before turning left just before your main gate. You could go around the side street and use the stable entrance...

“Shit, Maina,” Geralt said, now trailing you, “be more careful next time.”

His voice was a comically loud whisper as you both lowered your bodies to the most suspicious hunched trot in the history of trots. You hopped over a fence and through the neighbor’s garden.

“ _This_ is _rude_ …” Geralt observed dryly, sounding almost impressed with you.

“Javier doesn’t mind at all,” you replied over your shoulder, patting your pockets. Your heart fell- you left your key to the side gate inside. _Why do we have two different keys?_ You grunted, _rich people._

You reached the gate and knelt before it under the tall overhang, Geralt joining you. 

“ _Why are we kneeling?_ ” he asked in a whisper, and you handed him your hair pin.

“Because I don’t have a key to this one,” you sighed, “at least not on me.”

“Where’s Regis when you need him...” the witcher mumbled jokingly as he admired the fastener, and your heart pittered at how broadly true a statement that was to you. 

“You _know_ ,” Geralt stuck the lock, “You _could_ just ask Damien what it is he’s here for…”

You frowned, remembering how you’d been crouched, peering out from under a piano the last time you saw his mustachioed mug.

“...save us the trouble.”

“I don’t _care_ if it saves us the trouble,” you whispered back, looking up the street to where the main gate was and saw Damien corner it, starting to walk down it in your direction before stopping to stare up at the wall of your estate. 

“Maina…”

“I'm not talking to the chin of a _thousand slain enemies_ over there.”

“The chin of a thousand slain _what now?”_ Geralt asked, looking away from the lock he was picking to give you a look. 

_Okay it wasn’t the best dig, but whatever._

“Do you have a better one?” you asked, checking the street to make sure Damien was still inspecting the wall. He was. 

“I dunno,” he went back to the lock, “I thought _maybe_ you could come up with something a little more creative for a guy whose head looks like _one half of a literal ass_ from behind.”

You chortled, scanning the back of the knight's head. _I guess it_ does _kind of look like a butt cheek, huh?_

“In a sorta hot way though, right?” you asked, trying to get a rise out of him.

“You are aware that I’m not Dettlaff or Regis, right?”

“Oh, do you think they _wouldn’t_ get territorial over me saying that?”

“I don’t know,” he replied casually as the catch clicked opened and looked up the street at Damien, “eh, guess I can see it, just don’t get any ideas. Don’t think I can handle justifying our friendship to any more of your lovers.”

You gagged as he pocketed your hair pin.

“ _Ew_ ,” you locked eyes with Geralt and grimaced.

He smiled, “that was a joke.” You looked back up at the street and immediately your heart started beating faster.

Damien was gone.

“Geralt,” a low, mellifluously accented voice greeted, and you closed your eyes, deflating.

"Da _mi_ en," Geralt replied as the two of you stood up and turned to face Damien de la Tour. The knight nodded, and continued.

“I’m looking for Emiel Regis Rohe-,” his jaw flexed, and he checked a piece of parchment in his hand, “Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy. Will you tell him I came by?”

The large man looked up from his hand and thoroughly _examined_ you, seeming taken aback.

“My apologies,” Damien began, looking embarrassed, “I was not aware that you were,”

His eyes got to your hair and narrowed. 

“I’m Maina,” you introduced yourself, throat dry at the way this imposing figure was staring down at you with such scrutiny. You mentally willed your hand not to tremble as you reached out in an offer to shake.

The large knight shook his head as if remembering himself and, looking almost surprised at your gesture, became pleasant as he took your hand and bobbed it more gently than you were prepared for. He smiled at you before looking back to Geralt.

“Will you tell,” his nostrils flared, looking like he didn’t want to eye the parchment again, “Terzieff-Godefroy that he can find me in the palace courtyard this week. If he does not find me, I will return.”

_How does he know that Regis lives here?_

“How do you know where he lives?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Damien de la Tour gave you, what you thought, was a slightly condescending smile. Maybe he just looked full of himself. 

“It is my job,” his eyes were...kind? Or was that more condescension? He lifted his brows, “Maina van der Eretein, isn’t it?”

You nodded slowly, your mouth getting dry.

“Yoo-hoo,” Geralt said dryly, nearly mockingly at the knight, arms folded across his midsection, “I’ll get Regis the message. Maina go get your armor, I can finish this conversation.”

You ducked into your estate, pushing the door shut with your hands, fully turned around and facing it, your weight on it. 

_That guy was massive._ You took a deep breath, and realized your heart was pounding. You knew you had your name legally changed but you didn’t like the fact that he knew it. You really hated names. Turning around you ran to your house, making a mental note to tell Yennefer she needed to add Terzieff-Godefroy to that name of yours _immediately,_ before Regis asked about it and got upset.

-

The sun was beginning to dip into the horizon when you and Geralt lazily rode into Corvo Bianco and it was absolutely gorgeous on the views, but you felt exhausted. It would be a bald faced lie to say that you weren’t one hundred and fifty percent dragging ass right now. 

Geralt helped you dismount Mers and you didn’t even complain this time. You were feeling lightheaded, and started really missing your family. In particular, you were missing Regis…

Uhoh. 

You were missing the father of your unborn child. But you were also missing Dettlaff in the same peculiar way…

Well, the child is probably a bit of both of them, anyway, Maina. You thought to yourself as the witcher set you on your feet. You’ll all just have to deal with that as it co-

Geralt caught you by your upper arms and steadied you.

When you looked up at him, he looked thoroughly unimpressed. 

He looked less than unimpressed.

He looked like he wanted to let his eyes roll out of his head and use them as ammunition in a sling shot aimed at your thick skull, is what he looked like.

“Maina,” he said slowly, resting you against a wall before he crossed his arms, looking down at where you slumped, “been meaning to ask you how your morning sickness is this time around…”

He inclined his head at you and arched a brow.

“ _Nooo_ ,” you moaned, closing your eyes _tight_. “I think it’s because they’re both gone.”

Gloved hands stabilized your arms again as your body dipped.

“Don’t forget to give me the sleeping stuff,” you mumbled, “if you get pulled into Krael’ef, you’re toast.”

You peeked through your eye ad saw Geralt was frowning more than you ever witnessed him frown. 

“You _do_ know that Regis is kind of a dick about you right now, right? Like, _possessive_ .”

“I’m fine, don’t overreact,” you stated, “we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I just felt a little queasy.”

“It’s okay, Maina,” the witcher replied, sighing, wiping his face with his dirty gloved fingers and batting an eye about it, “Hate to ask, but...do you think there’s any chance you’ll feel better by tomorrow?”

“I hope so,” you replied, feeling sweaty. He nodded, and you added from the pain in your chest, “I miss Dacre.”

“Yeah, seems like you’ve missed him all day.” Geralt sounded resolved, “Listen, I don’t need to meditate tonight, or sleep.”

You nodded, feeling warm.

“Let’s get you inside,” he picked you up with ease and you groaned, “I’ll bring the rest of your things in.”


	2. Dettlaff's Shyness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dettlaff returns from helping Regis to visit Maina in the night, finding her at Geralt's, which at this point does not cause him to bat an eye. Why the visit? Turns out, he simply missed her. We find out Maina wants to get to know him in his other forms...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's: Vampire Sex

You could hear Geralt’s snoring from upstairs in the loft, and really wish you had another pillow to pile on top of your head. The sick feeling in your stomach had subsided before retiring for the evening, but was coming back in and out in waves. Sighing, you rolled over and adjusted the light, goose feather pillow over your ear in a new fashion. ‘I don’t sleep,’ you mocked Geralt’s voice internally.

This is going to be a long night. 

A grumbling alerted you that your stomach was about to upturn itself, and you sat up grabbing at the bucket you were hoping you wouldn’t have to use when suddenly you felt better. You smiled at your own vigor and laid back down, but your eyes were still searching the dark, moonlit room of your old loft.

Did you feel? Was that?

Warmth - unbridled warmth and content was filling you where you lay and you were absolutely certain that it had to be… You sat up.

“Maina,” Dettlaff’s relieved voice filled your ears and you looked up to see black and red smoke trickle down to you until Dettlaff was materializing next to the bed. 

“Dettlaff!” You nearly yelled, jumping up and hugging his firm, masculine waist - filling your nose with the mixture of cedarwood and musk. His large muzzle was in your hair with a puff of hot breath as he returned the embrace tenfold, but a bout of dizziness pushed you to fall back on the mattress. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, removing both his coat and his shirt. That caused you to raise an eyebrow, but you weren’t about to complain, either…

“I’m OK,” you shrugged, laying back on the mattress, “Where are Dacreval and Regis?”

“Closer. They are resting for the night, on the Northern border,” Dettlaff smiled, sliding into bed next to you, “but I missed you, Maina.”

“I missed you too, Dettlaff,” you grinned as Dettlaff closed his eyes at the sound of his name and pulled you in next to his large, muscular body. You rested your head on his shoulder and, looking up, saw the handsome outline of his prominent jaw and cheekbones being highlighted in the moonlight. You reached across his chest with your outer arm and twirled the curly black hair behind his far ear, “How is Regis?”

Suddenly, Dettlaff’s icy blue eyes were piercing you in the dark and you felt a shiver run through you despite yourself. He leaned his head in and kissed your forehead - one of his large hands going to the small of your belly.

“He is nervous,” Dettlaff exhaled through his nose, “I can sense this baby like I could sense our Dacreval, and I do not know what it means.”

You frowned, thinking about how you had been ill. 

“I became sick again,” you looked down at yourself where your mate’s sizable, clawed hand warmed you, “like I did when I was pregnant before, but just now...as soon as I felt your energy, it went away.” 

Your frown deepened, and Dettlaff’s large hand moved from the small of your belly to your chin, then tenderly cupped the side of your face.

“He can sense the child too, my darling,” he started massaging your cheek with his thumb reassuringly, “that is a good thing, and he is grateful for the both of us.”

That did make you feel a little better. You were glad that Regis could sense his own child and you looked up at your dark haired vampire, who was admiring you intensely in the moonlight.

“Geralt asked how you were doing with everything about your mom,” you choked out, surprising yourself and apparently Dettlaff - who’s brows shot up marginally and he pitched his head to the side. It was incredibly cute. You shrugged, suddenly becoming sad at the subject, “he hasn’t really seen us as much lately and I guess he was curious.”

“I am fine,” Dettlaff’s thumb stopped rubbing your cheek and he looked at you, into you with those piercing blue eyes again, “I am thankful that you did what you did. I am grateful for you.”

You felt like you wanted to remind him that it was Geralt who asked...but he was right. You needed and wanted reassurance on the subject.

His large, clawed hand glided to your chin and he lifted your face to his - his parted lips nearly grazing yours and you stared at them and the fangs behind, before the slight pressure being applied to your chin called your attention back to his gaze. 

“I am so, so very grateful,” Dettlaff’s deep voice bellowed, his gaze flickering between yours and your own mouth, before he closed his eyes and kissed you. His lips became more forceful and his hand returned to the side of your face as he brought you in closer, “My Maina,” he cooed, sucking in air as his body became excited, “tell me you are mine.” 

You slowed. Does he want me to tell him…?

“I’m Regis’ Acern Ara, too,” you reminded him, sliding your tongue back into his mouth and grasping his thick, black hair. That hair felt so good in your hands…

“Yes,” his hot breath was musky and delicious, and it was returning to your face faster and faster, “but you are mine.”

This time, you really froze. 

“Dettlaff…”

His chest was rising and falling, now. 

“I know,” his deep voice was quiet as he let his forehead gently rest against yours, “I just…”

“You’ve always seemed so happy for us all,” you realized your head was shaking ever so slightly. Where was this coming from? 

“I hadn’t expected for you to be his, as well,” you heard him swallow, and his hand tightened, “I am happy about it, yes.” 

It seemed like he was something else about it, too. You knew though- you knew it was difficult to not ever become jealous. Heck, even just the two of them being out in the country with your son made you wish you were with them, or even become anxious that you were somehow not enough. You frowned at yourself.

“Well I mean,” you began, stroking his hair, “it isn’t like I can’t believe you wouldn’t run off with Regis...he’s a pretty strapping man, isn’t he?”

Dettlaff’s eyes got wide, “Maina, we would never.”

“We would never, either, Dettlaff,” you cooed, “I love you so much.” 

“You are more my Acern Ara than his,” he stated definitively and went on as if justifying it to himself, “He will never be completely whole, and…”

You really, really didn’t want to agree despite the fact that your heart told you it was true, too. Suddenly Dettlaff’s swirling energy cooled to a stop.

“What am I doing?” he asked deeply into your hair, his voice ashamed as he paused. You waited in silence until he pulled you in, “I am sorry.”

“It’s okay, Dettlaff…”

He pulled you in closer still, tighter.

“No,” it came out a near whisper, “it isn’t. That isn’t fair to any of us. Sometimes I…”

Dettlaff’s exhale warmed the top of your head, and you wrapped your arms around his large torso. 

“Sometimes I just want you for myself, though it is wrong.” 

“I forgive you, Dettlaff,” you kissed the upper part of his naked, handsome chest and smelled it. His arms constricted around you, “you should forgive yourself, too.”

He nodded into your hair. You couldn't really imagine his internal struggle- he'd made it sound nearly constant in the past. He shouldn't have to keep it all bottled up...

“You can tell me about these things, too,” your forefinger warmed as you drew circles with it around the muscled, fleshy shoulder blade of his handsome back. 

He nodded again, “I love you, Maina.”

You smiled, “I love you too, Dettlaff.”

Dettlaff pushed himself up closer to you, and you felt that he’d become...excited. You swallowed, and grabbed his back more tightly when he started kissing your neck.

“Dettlaff…”

He kissed the place where your neck met your shoulder before replying breathily, “yes?”

“Can we…” you didn’t know how to ask him this, and you found his thick black hair in your hands, again. “Can we…”

Here it goes…

“Can we have sex while you’re…” you breathed, “in…” baby steps, “your transitional form?”

Dettlaff’s energy stopped, and he stilled. His mouth began leaving your shoulder, and you had to grab his large shoulders to keep him from moving away from you completely. 

His chest was expanding greatly and falling greatly against you. He seemed nervous.

“You would want that?” his deep voice was unsteady and filled with disbelief as his hands went nearly limp on your back.

Your hands cupped his neck and the side of his face - your own face you buried into the place beneath his ear and whispered, “of course I want that. I want everything with you. I want all of you.”

Dettlaff’s chest pushed into you and his large, clawed hands were regaining some of their prior confidence, and the soft pads of his palms found your back once more. 

“Everything? ” You heard your large mate swallow, still completely frozen, “Maina, you can’t mean even that…”

“Yes,” you replied, your own voice shaking, and Dettlaff’s body tightened against you.

“I thought I smelled Regis’ bat...his...late last summer but I,” he shook his head, “I thought I must have been imagining it.” 

You wrapped your arms around him tighter and kissed his neck, “I want this,” you ran your finger up the crease where his spine lay and he shivered - holding you firmly as well. 

His low voice was quiet and hesitant, “can we go to the cave?”

You nodded, and you were gone. 

-

You came to on the bed of the drafty cave in the face of Mt. Gorgon - the flickering of Beauclair’s lanterns brightened the stone facade every so slightly. Around you Dettlaff had lit candles, and you began undoing your clothing when you felt his energy and realized he was pacing the length of the cave, naked and beautiful. 

He ran a large, clawed hand through his hair, “I am nervous.”

“I know,” you replied, undoing your breeches and trying to push out any guilt. Does this have anything to do with him feeling like he’s a monster, again? You shook your head at the thought of him torturing himself with that.

“Why are you nervous?” you offered your large, dark haired mate who turned to you and, seeing you naked on the mattress, froze, swallowing. Dettlaff’s eyes sharpened lustfully in the romantic candlelight, and you beckoned him to you with your outstretched hand. 

He walked over, his long member becoming firmer, longer, and thicker as he did until he was standing over you, cupping the side of your face with his hand, his erect dick in front of you. Looking up at your mate you took his long, veiny shaft in your hand and started rolling your wrist around his soft skin. 

Dettlaff sucked in air and his eyes pierced you. His fangs sticking out slightly and you cooed, “we can get started, and you can transform in the moment, if you like.”

The sizable vampire was beginning to nod his head when you licked your lips and stuck his other in your mouth, sucking on it. Dettlaff let out a low grunt, and pushed his hips further - you let your throat relax as his cock started filling it and you felt his large hands go to the side of your head. When he was fully inside your mouth and throat you, trying not to gag, you peered up at him - his eyes widened, and his jaw jut out before he pulled his hips back and bucked again, “Maina,” he gasped, sounding pitchy. The head of Dettlaff's hard dick went so far in and was so thick that this time you did gag. 

But he hadn’t heard, and he bucked again, and you gagged again, Dettlaff’s precum coating where his head’s slit had been, then he pulled out excitedly. You looked up, wiping the viscous saliva off the sides of your mouth and before you knew it, Dettlaff was lifting you up and setting you on top of him on the bed, his tongue finding its place between your labias and the end of it starting to flick your clit. You looked down at his handsome mouth as he sucked on you, making eye contact as he let you go with a pop and flicked your clitoris again, causing your head to lull back and stare at the ceiling of the cave, “Dettlaff,” you moaned, “turn for me,” you cooed, his hands were playing with your tits as his tongue and mouth explored you, before he brought you back down to him and stuck one of your breasts in his mouth. “Maina,” he moaned into you, and you shuddered as his tongue rolled around your areola, before the very tip of his fangs lightly clasped your actual nipple. You squirmed when Dettlaff’s eyes rolled and he sucked milk from you. His his long fingers were on your clitoris and you gasped, “Dettlaff,” you held his face, and sloppily started kissing the side of it “transfor-” you gasped again as Dettlaff suddenly pushed his long, thick cock into your opening and smacked your ass with his base, filling you completely with himself and you convulsed hard around his member, your voice pitchy and pleading. Dettlaff’s eyes got wide as he released your nipple and smacked your ass with his hands, squeezing you, rolling his hips into you before he stilled, his chest rising and falling quickly, and you saw his adam’s apple bob. You rolled your own hips around his manhood and shuddered at the size of him. His eyes rolled, biting his lip until it bled, and held you sternly as he tried to regain composure. 

Dettlaff’s eyebrows were pitched in the middle, almost worried, “are you certain?” He nearly winced, and you slid off his cock slightly, feeling his head drag in your pussy as you went to kiss his lips before he bucked his cock fully into you, and you into his lips “Det tlaff ,” he smiled crookedly, then became serious again. Serious and worried and his hands left your ass and went to your face, “if I bite you in that form, will it scare you?” you shook your head no , nearly disbelieving and his energy became warm at the response, “of course not, Dettlaff.” He put his forehead to yours, and it was he who nodded his head and whispered, “I am not a monster.” 

“No, honey,” you cooed, perched atop his hard dick and he inhaled at the sound of your pet name, “you are anything but.” Before you could kiss the side of Dettlaff’s face his forearm was taut against your upper back - bringing you up against his front and, pushing his cock further and further into you, started to shake. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he thrust again, and you moaned, and again, again, the shaking becoming worse until he stopped bucking and you started rolling your hips on his growing, changing member, “Fuck, Maina,” Dettlaff bellowed and suddenly his voice was lower and raspier and wilder, and he was no longer using his hands to hold you. Then Dettlaff began was thrusting into you wildly, holding you to him with his forearm. 

You pushed against his chest and sat up, his fatty hard-on was nearly too much, and you remembered how big it had been in his full vampiric form when you’d glanced at it. You felt his fleshier, more filling cock smack into the back of your pussy and you wailed. Losing your breath, you started to touch yourself, “Maina,” his fanged mouth roared discordantly - his carnal, jarring and icy gaze like daggers, his energy sweet and loving and soaring, his dick too large for you to handle. Dettlaff bucked into you again and you let yourself fall forward onto his muscular chest, his arms going to your back and his teeth grazed against your shoulder, “Bite,” you squealed as his cock left you and pushed deeply into you again with an animalistic growl - his head felt different, rounder, larger, and weighty “me,” you gasped. Dettlaff’s breath hitched as his fangs pushed down against the flesh of your shoulder until they broke skin and his body shuddered, “Maina,” he spat into the bloody area, his movements becoming crazed as he held you tighter, fucking you. A tingling sensation began overcoming you, a wave hitting you as you looked at your mate sucking on your shoulder wildly - his piercing eyes found yours, and Dettlaff thrust himself into you again. Your eyes rolled, a wave crashed against you from it, he was still staring at you when the feeling became too much and you overwhelmingly surrendered to the intensity of your orgasm, latching onto him. “Maina,” Dettlaff spouted unsteadily between breaths and you felt his nearly hot precum. His tongue was wet and lapping up the blood on your shoulder where he was still sucking, his forearms pushing you up against him, bringing you as closely to his person as he could, his base was at the end of every thrust and his balls started smacking your ass when his fangs dug deeper, causing you to gasp, and calling your name, Dettlaff filled you. The hot, viscous cum of him in this form began closing any space between your insides and Dettlaff’s different, formidable member, before oozing out and coating the two of you as he held you to him and bucked the last of his seed into you.

“Fuck, Dettlaff” you wheezed, catching your breath on his shoulder, him catching his breath on yours - his wet hair on your forehead, “I love you.” 

“I want to hold you,” Dettlaff’s voice was shaky and pitching in an odd manner when he detached his fangs from you, licking and kissing where he drank from you.

Your head popped back reflexively at his tone and you held his face, searching him, “are you alright, honey?” Your voice was more worried than you realized, and suddenly you noticed his energy was the same as how you were feeling. 

Which was completely, utterly, in love. 

You felt moisture in your eyes and held Dettlaff around his neck as he slowly pulled out of you with a grunt, his body rippling until he was in his most human looking physique - his hands were on you and his arms around you. He was nuzzling you already, his large muzzle on the temples of your head, making a bird’s nest of your hair.

“Hey,” you began, and Dettlaff hummed lowly in response, “I need to put a comb through this in the morning.”

Your large mate chuckled, and continued uninterrupted. 

“That was incredible, by the way,” you whispered to him and felt his energy spike. Dettlaff’s mouth was on your lower cheek, kissing you. 

“Thank you,” his whisper was deep and throaty before he held you closer. “Thank you, my Maina.”

Dettlaff let his head bob back onto the pillow of the mattress and rolled you over to his side where you rested your head on his shoulder, but he slipped out from under you, putting his large head next to yours on the pillow. One of your hands was being held by his, now, and his eyes were dancing off your face. 

You were fairly certain Dettlaff just wanted to look at you, and you were fairly certain you felt the same way about him. His handsome, masculine features so different than your own, his hands so much larger, his hair so much coarser...soon you noticed that you were twirling his dark curls beside his ears again, and he hummed, his eyes bright with joy. 

“I’m not going to be very well rested,” you admitted to yourself and the air. You were under the impression that Dettlaff was already and had already been well aware of that. 

The large vampire barked out a laugh and nodded, eyes still filling themselves with your won in a glee filled wonder. His large hand went to your cheek again, “No, my darling, you won’t be.” His brows furrowed, slightly, and his eyes were now searching yours, “the witche-” he closed his eyes momentarily, “ Geralt, wants you to work with him?”

The nail of Dettlaff’s handsome thumb was running circles around your chin, and you cupped the back of his hand before kissing his large palm and placing your face in it, inhaling and relaxing from it. It was a very comforting place to put one’s face and rest one's cheek - you could argue that point until death took you, you thought. Dettlaff’s energy rose when he felt your cheek form a smile against his palm, and when you looked up, he was mirroring your emotions. 

The two of you seemed to do that a lot. Focus.

His steely blue grey eyes were so beautiful and caring...and dangerous…and loving...

Focus.

You shook your head, and Dettlaff grinned as if he knew what was happening to you exactly, huffing a chuckle and shaking his head, he began rubbing your jawline, then your temple. 

He lifted his eyebrows encouragingly at you, “the witcher?”

“Oh,” Right. You nodded, feeling sleepier, “Yes, he does. I think he’s lonely, but I think I might get sick tomorrow when the two of you are so far away…”

You trailed off, not wanting to make Dettlaff feel guilty, but the look on his face and the energy that surrounded you, could tell that you already had done just that. “It won’t take long,” he assured you.

“Not at all,” you smiled, “please don’t rush. Enjoy flying with our son.”

In your bat form…

Dettlaff’s nostrils flared at your arousal before his eyes squinted suspiciously, mischievously. 

You giggled, and the flirtatious smile on his face vanished, being replaced by something thoughtful and precarious, “Is that really something you want, Maina?”

Dettlaff’s brows were pitched up in the middle again, his forehead wrinkling above them and it looked to you like he was biting the inside of his lip on one side. You scooted closer to him, being filled even more so with the smell of cedarwood and musk. Wrapping your arms around him, you put your forehead to his and asked, “Don’t you think you would like it, Dettlaff?”

Your mate’s energy excited at the sound of his name, and he nodded, his deep voice only sounding half of the words as he replied throatily, “Yes, of course.”

“Mmm,” you smiled, hugging him closer, “then let’s,” you stroked the stubble on his handsome jaw as it nodded, then your hand found the part of his thick neck where his curly hair ran across it and massaged him there. 

“Should I take you back now or in the morning?” he swallowed and his hands, finding your hips and wrapping around them, brought you in tight against his body. 

“In the morning,” you replied, sleepily, “I like this cave.”

Dettlaff's energy simmered in immense satisfaction from that, and you bit back happy tears.

“I may not be there when you wake,” he whispered, and you nodded as he continued, “but we will be back tomorrow afternoon, my darling.” 

"You can come help us when you return, if you want," you yawned, finding and choosing his firm yet soft pectoral, sat bulged against the mattress, as your pillow.

"Mmm," the handsome, dark haired vampire let out before he caught your contagious yawn and wrapped his arms and hands around you, "maybe I will not bring Regis. He is becoming territorial, I think. I will come, though, if you'd like." You nodded and could feel the smile on Dettlaff’s cheeks against your temple when his energy lulled you to sleep. In that moment, in your heart of hearts, you truly did know that you were, above all others, his.


	3. The Sansretour and Vampire Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maina and Geralt deal with the Tufo monster - Dettlaff and Dacreval tag along upon returning. We get our first glimpse of Regis dealing with his fatherly instincts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: biting, most adorable bat baby, and crime (but at least not murder) committed against a shaelmaar

The sky had been predominantly of yellows and oranges on your walk, into the sun, down Corvo Bianco’s stream to the banks of the Sansretour. Geralt was jovial to a fault in the morning, but a relaxed jovial, at least. Currently, he was untying the small boat for launch, his legs making swishing noises in the water, talking some such of the petty idiosyncrasies displayed by vineyard and winery owners in this country. 

You didn’t think he knew a lot about vineyard and winery owners in any other country, so you chose to admire his optimism in believing these were specific to Toussaint. 

The Sansretour itself was cool and beautiful shades of blue, but you chose to observe the dirt from the dusty path that now coated your copper-toed boots and avoided looking at the body of water altogether.

“Alright,” the witcher slapped his gloves together and hopped into the boat, sitting on a plank seat, “get in.”

You eyed the water suspiciously, holding your sheathed sword tighter.

Geralt pushed the hood of his deep blue armor back to get a better look at you before he inclined his head down and away. The gesture shifted his body, causing the entire boat to rock back and forth - and _that_ caused _you_ to take a step back. 

“Forgot you don’t know how to swim,” he nodded his head back to neutral and looked at you. His lips were pulled tight against his teeth as if he were trying to keep a secret. 

“It’s not that uncommon, you know,” you began, inching forward down the sandy bank, which was much, much, too steep, suddenly…

“You swam in the damn ocean of The Land of a Thousand Fables, didn’t you?” Geralt chided, his arms crossing along with his legs, completely insouciant. 

“Yeah, well,” you peeked up at the distance to the boat then back down at your boots and the water as if it were going to jump at you, then closed the distance and leapt into the vessel. Tossing your leather bag over your shoulder and setting your sword down, you sat on the bowed floor of the boat and leaned up against its side, exhaling a ‘phew’.

Geralt pushed off the dropping bank with the paddle of an oar, setting the boat to sail with a jig and splashing you with cool droplets. He turned around in the shimmering reflections of the water particles and sat at the helm, _“‘yeah well’_ what _,_ exactly?”

 _“Yeah, well,"_ you watched the bank get further and further away, then shook your head, deciding it will be fine, “first off, I wasn't swimming. I could touch the bottom, so it was _wading._ Second, oceans, lakes, and ponds I can do,” you sat back, resting your elbows on the edge of the boat, “but I've had a bad experience with rivers.”

Geralt tossed you a piece of cheese he’d retrieved from his bag, and started rummaging for what you figured would be jam. _Mm, G_ _ruyere_ , you thought to yourself before something lightly collided with your head and landed on your lap. It was a something tied in cloth. You unwrapped it to see dried meat and, lifting it to your nose, smiled. _Soppressata_.

“This the good stuff?” you asked idly through a mouthful of cheese, tearing a piece of the meat.

Geralt chuckled, “It’s spicy, if that's what you mean.”

You decided to rip off another chunk before tossing it back to the witcher. _Maybe the river isn’t so bad._ The shade of the bridge was just enveloping you when Geralt broke the silence only accompanied by the chirping of birds. 

“That place has good chowder,” he pointed above him and you looked up to only see the stonework of a bridge’s underbelly, then back to him. “The Cockatrice Inn.” 

“Oh,” you chuckled, then peered up and over your shoulder once more when the sunlight warmed your skin. The building was cute. 

Geralt was still looking at you when he drew his knife - which he insisted was very, very clean - and cut another piece of spicy soppressata for himself. He bit it off the knife how you’d imagine some sort of blacksmith would. He held the helm lazily, then asked, “did you get very far?”

You looked at him, puzzled. 

"In your bad river experience," he clarified, biting another piece of meat from the blade.

“Fuck no,” you looked up at him, tossing your hair out of your face from where the cool breeze insisted it go. “Nearly drowned, immediately. Woke up being revived by some tattered fisherman on a bank a few hundred feet from where I started and had to run through a line of bushes from witch hunters."

His eyes widened, and an impressed smirk appeared on his face, "and how did _that_ go?"

"I made it out of the brush and fell flat into some farmer’s cart.”

Geralt smacked his hand over his eyes as his head rolled back, laughing. His Adam's apple bobbing with each chortle. You leaned forward, losing yourself in mirth, realizing you’d never told anyone about that part, and realizing that you’d never known yourself just how funny it was to you.

“Couldn’t even get out on my own,” you added, biting your lip and your smile. 

Geralt’s free hand popped up, bent at the elbow, palm facing the sky as if he were asking _how?_

“It was a surprisingly deep cart...” you recalled, shaking out your last chuckle as Geralt started laughing harder.

The witcher regained his composure shortly after, hand still moving all the while on the helm and you realized the two of you were docking.

“Well, I’m glad you made it here, at least,” he tossed his bag onto the pier and hopped out, tying the boat up. “Hope the rest wasn’t too bad.”

He extended both of his arms to you and you looked down at your bag, not wanting to bend over to grab it after having had such difficulty steadying yourself in the first place. “Don’t worry about that,” Geralt turned his hand by the wrist encouragingly and picked you up, setting you on the dock next to him.

“Thanks,” you replied as he hopped fluidly into the vessel and tossed you your bag, “It wasn’t too bad,” you caught your sword, “Yen found me shortly afterwards.”

“Speaking of Yen” he started, finding the pier again, and you noticed the forest to the graveyard was just across the river, and smiled. “When is your next lesson with her?”

The witcher nudged you to follow him, nodding in the direction of land.

“Um,” you shook your head, “next week, actually.”

“Finally starting back up?” he raised his voice to a shout as the two of you ran through, what you considered to be, the surprisingly hustling and bustling docks of Flovive. “What has it been, five weeks?”

“Six, actually,” you called back, jumping over a crate some man in a poofy hat managed to push between Geralt and yourself despite being only a step behind him. You looked back, almost impressed. 

Geralt opened the door to a large building with a hanging sign that read ‘The Barrel and Bung Inn’. You crossed his person and stepped into the dimly lit building. 

You’d finished strapping on your sword and counting all of the dirt particles on your boots, and had taken to counting the particles of dust floating in the stream of sunlight coming from the hole in the roof by the time Geralt walked over to you with his business face on. He pulled out the creaky wooden chair across from you and set down his cup. 

“Alright,” he started, sounding huskier than usual as he sat. 

_Oh, this is prime ‘Witcher’ performance right here_ , you thought as he continued, looking stony faced.

“The Tufo Estate is just northeast from here,” he leaned forward, obviously sliding something in his back pocket, “inn-keep says you can’t miss it.”

“Played Gwent, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

His brow dipped as he sat back, lazily flourishing his hand over the table between you and more importantly, the empty bowl on it, “and I bought you lunch.”

“Mmm _hm_ ,” You kept your brow up as you stood, “you _know_ , Geralt, gambling _is_ an addiction.” 

“We didn’t gamble anything,” he outright lied, walking behind you to the door as you opened it for him, a shit eating grin on his face. 

“ _Oh,_ well _good!”_ you nearly yelled over enthusiastically, as you followed him out into the glaring sunlight. 

The two of you reached the estate shortly after leaving the Inn. It was completely uphill, but close, and nothing you couldn’t handle. 

You were sitting on a stone fence, taking note of the fact that the sun was just passed center and that it was technically afternoon. Maybe Dettlaff will show up, now. The paved stone beneath your feet surrounded the patio and the one door of the estate you were waiting for to open - the one Geralt had disappeared into on his own accord. The cellar door. 

Sighing, you rubbed your temples until you heard the familiar sound of a squeaky latch being undone. Finally, the witcher came walking out of it and in your direction, nodding to a man who had been waiting. You imagined he was the owner of the estate, and was closely following him, biting his heels as he spoke quietly to the witcher. You stood to greet them, or at least in hopes to make your presence more noticeable.

You really despised forced eavesdropping. If it was going to happen, you liked for it to be intentional on the eavesdroppers’ end of things. 

“...just gotta talk to your _wife,_ Jean-Christophe,” Geralt’s voice became audible as he briskly walked up beside you. He was obviously not concerned with masking the situation like the estate’s owner was. 

The fancifully dressed man came to an unsteady halt just before he would have ran into you entirely. He eyed you up and down, then Geralt up and down before cocking his head to one side and scrunching his face up at the two of you. He shook something out of his head, evidently, and stated, “Fine. I will go retrieve my Andrée since you so wish.”

The man gave a curt nod of his head and turned on his heel, patting the sides of his hips as if he had dirt on his hands as he went. 

Geralt looked at you, shrugging his shoulders to indicate he had no idea what the man’s behavior was about. 

“Why do you have to talk to the wife?” you asked, joining him in his relaxed stance by leaning up against the fence. 

“A worker went missing, she was with him last.” 

You turned your head to footsteps and saw the fanciful man returning with a truly miserable looking woman. By the way he was holding her arm as they strode up...you really couldn’t blame her. You saw Geralt’s expression become a little more severe as he saw it, too, and felt a surprising urge to scoot closer to him. 

When they got to the two of you they halted, and Andrée looked the witcher up and down, then you up and down, then the two of you together. 

You eyed Geralt again, and he again shrugged before starting. “So,” he crossed his arms and lifting one hand at the elbow conversationally, “Jean-Christophe says you were with the worker last?”

“Jean-Luc,” Andrée replied with a certain... _enthusiasm_ in her voice that you recognized, and your heart dropped for her. You could feel the expression on your face becoming sad, and you could see Geralt’s hand flexed at the way she had spoken his name. 

“Yes,” she continued, “yes I was with him. We were working in the fields…” her voice became slightly urgent, “there.” 

She pointed behind the two of you, and you looked to see the leafy green rows of grapevines of a far field. Looking back at Andrée, you saw she was hopeful. 

This Jean-Luc had better be alive.

“Thanks,” Geralt said, turning back to her and giving her an actual smile, his professional witcher facade breaking, slightly. Then he regained it completely, addressing Jean-Chrisophe, “We’ll be back.”

“Oh, _thank you_ ,” Andrée said nervously. The two of you nodded and turned, walking away. “And I love your uniforms!”

You missed a step on the cobblestone and Geralt caught your arm, righting you. When you reached the field you looked at Geralt’s outfit, then your own. You were both wearing nearly identical sets of navy blue armor. 

“I told you you should have changed armor,” he said, cutting through the first row. Your jaw dropped. 

“You have like, _twenty_ different types of armor, Geralt,” you jogged up next to him, his gait quickening. 

“Think anyone’s thought we’re a traveling band?” he cocked his head to the side, dipping into the next row of grapes, you followed. 

“Or our own religious movement,” you mumbled to yourself, hopping through green leaves and smacking Geralt’s back with your front - hitting the ground with an ‘ _ooommf_ ’.

The two of you were staring at a picnic basket. 

“I just feel bad for her,” he knelt down, examining the blanket, the basket, and lifting an opened, spoiled bottle of some grain alcohol. “It can’t be easy rightfully thinking your lover is probably dead,” he smelled the bottle and, stepping away from you, began emptying its contents into the grass, “especially with an ass-hat of a husband like Jean-Chrisophe.” 

You nodded, hopping back up. Two sets of footprints were trailing off towards the treeline in different directions, one looked definitively male as your eyes followed it, “well let’s hurry and see if we can find him.”

“You know,” Geralt said, looking over the stream of alcohol hitting the ground beside his boots, “normally, I’d probably drink some of this.”

“Wow, _thank_ you so, _so_ much for your abstinence, ” you rolled your eyes, grabbing his arm and pulling him along.

You spared a glance at the sky. 

“Why do you keep doing that?” Geralt lazily yanked his arm back from you and you slowed at his suspicious tone. “Maina, did you invite one of them along?”

“Yeah so what?” you asked, your brows furrowing trying to make out the trail, Geralt walked past you, obviously seeing it more clearly than you could, and now you found yourself following him. 

“Nothing,” he replied, “just try to focus. Noticed you were yawning an awful lot this morning. I’m just glad you’re not sick anymore, but I wasn’t expecting you to celebrate with visitors...”

Your eyes got wide, “you were sleeping!”

“Don’t sleep,” he replied, stepping over a bush and falling out of sight. Your heart skipped, and you ran after him to see that he was standing in a cave below you, following a trail that was no longer footsteps. 

“ _Do too_ ,” you called, sniffing the air as you dropped into the cave with surprising ease. It’s blood. Your eyes quickly adjusted to the dark and you followed him. “Do you think he’s alive?” you whispered.

Geralt was crouched and looked almost as if he were stalking prey as he moved, “already told you my opinion on it...fuck.”

“What?” you frowned, looking at him where he stood up in front of a clump of tunnel openings, relaxed. 

“We’ll have to come back with bait,” he replied, gloved hand on his chin in contemplation as he passed you heading back the way you came. 

Once you were free of the cave and in the sunlight again, you stood and turned to Geralt, who was still in contemplation. 

“Why do we need bai-”

You heard something. It sounded like a groan, and your heads shot in the direction it came from. Geralt jumped through the brush first, and you followed, skipping after him, until you found a young, handsome, and wounded man lying on the ground.

“Jean-Luc?” you asked, Geralt already bent over him. 

The young man moaned, and you knelt next to him, saw a woman's locket around his neck - an A etched in it. 

“Let’s get him back,” Geralt sighed, hoisting him up. 

“I think I only sleep when you and I are near each other,” Geralt sighed, “and only you and I.” 

“What?” you asked, not really feeling like talking as you carried the near-dead weight that was the young Jean-Luc across a field that grew at least twice in size since the last time you saw it. 

“Pretty sure you make people sleep, Maina,” Geralt replied, looking like he also realized he didn’t feel like talking, but a little too late, “I swear.” 

“Hmm,” you considered it. “Maybe I do.” 

Jean-Luc moaned neutrally. 

“Hey,” Geralt held out a belabored arm grasping a vial, “wanna put some of his blood in this?”

Your face scrunched up, “ _what?_ ”

“Just do it, quick,” he stopped, holding the barely conscious man up by his armpits. You searched for where he was bleeding. “Maybe by his left leg,” Geralt offered.

“I can find his blood myself, _thank you,_ ” you replied, haughtily, but quickly just took blood from his left leg. 

“Hur- _ry_ ,” Geralt reminded you annoyingly between gritted teeth and then added through them in a sing-songy inflection, “we’re close enough for Andrée and Jean-Christophe to see…”

“ _Will_ you,” you placed the cork in the vial and pocketed it, going to stand, “ _Shut_ _u-_ ”

“Jean-Luc!” Andrée’s voice was traveling down the field and, and you turned to see her in her nice gown, running with it in her grips above the knee.

She seemed to have forgotten about giving a shit about her shit husband. Other workers began surrounding you, too, and they began carrying him off, Andrée following closely. 

You exhaled, not realizing that you’d been holding breath where you stood. 

“Well, _that_ happened fast,” you observed, and Geralt let out a very satisfied, very genuine sounding chuckle. 

“Yeah,” he patted you hard on the back, and your upper body lurched forward a bit, “it’s thankless work.”

The two of you were untying the boat, the Sansretour now reflecting slightly different yellows and oranges of the evening sun. Geralt was telling you in detail about the stink Jean-Christophe made over the two of you having to return - something about not being worth the money. As he spoke, you noticed black and grey smoke across the river above the Mère-Lachaiselongue Cemetery. _Regis?_

A swirl of energy engulfed you, and Geralt’s words were becoming muffled the less you paid attention to them.

“Maina,” you straightened at the sound of Dettlaff’s voice, and turned to see him and Dacreval on the dock. 

“Val, Dettlaff!” you felt your insides ignite at the sight of them, and were quickly being gathered up by strong arms shrouded in black leather. A man with a fleshy, snubbed nose on the dock stopped and stared as you kissed the small bat just now crawling on your shoulder. Suddenly, though, his eyes got wide and he turned away. You peered down - Dettlaff’s grimace at the man was just clearing from his face and returning to a relaxed, happy state. His eyes became playful as they took you in, and you kissed his forehead. 

“Hm _Hm_ ,” Geralt cleared his throat.

“Just give us one seco-”

You stopped mid sentence as Dacreval left your shoulder and flew over and around Geralt. He smiled and, nodding his head in satisfaction, hopped in the boat. 

“Huh,” your brow went back to neutral as Val returned to your shoulder and you nuzzled his purring little body with your cheek, reminding yourself of the one who currently held you up against him. 

“ _Hey_ ,” Geralt called, “ _you-who-cannot-walk-for-yourself_...and company,” he slapped one of the boat’s plank benches, and nodded towards the graveyard.

"Does he know that you do not like rivers?" a deep, quiet voice in your ear asked, concerned. You nodded, and it asked, "did you tell him why?"

"Kind of," you replied, looking down at your large mate, who's eyes became soft, before he closed them and nudged your face, lovingly. Then, Dettlaff readjusted his hold under your thighs and stepped into the boat, causing it to list before he sat down and you slid off him. You took the opportunity to unstrap your armor and feed Dacre. 

Geralt looked away, pushing the boat off the launch and Dettlaff’s expression became amused. “Horv cace, teis.”

_‘He makes that awkward.’_

You smacked Dettlaff and Geralt gave him a look. That made you smile. 

“What’s Regis doing?” you asked, watching his smoke flow from the trees back off towards Beauclair for a second time. 

“He claims he wants to stay in the graveyard more often,” Dettlaff shrugged. Did he sound amused?

“That’s not that out of character,” Geralt stiffened, craning his neck until it cracked as he looked back at the shore. 

“No,” Dettlaff agreed, and his arm tightened around you, “but I would tread lightly around him right now, witcher.”

The witcher turned around and looked at him in a discrediting sort of way, but Dettlaff was regarding the corner of your jaw by rubbing it with the bridge of his nose, and you were pretty certain he didn’t catch it. 

Geralt’s eyes widened at you shaking his head, apparently exasperated at Dettlaff’s inability to not stick his face next to yours or your neck, and said loudly and clearly, “And why’s that, Dettlaff?”

“He is cranky,” Dettlaff replied simply and Geralt sighed, tossing up his hands. You felt Dettlaff’s chuckle into your neck, before he removed himself from you, sitting up straight and continuing with, “I think, right now, he considers you a threat.”

“A threat?” Geralt was shaking his head, looking incredulously at your mate, “ _How_?”

You peered at the nearing shore and sighed. 

_Regis_.

“He is simply,” Dettlaff shifted, considering, “you recall my behavior at Orianna’s?”

Your head shot back to your vampire. Geralt’s eyes widened unhappily. 

“Why do we need bait?” you shifted, changing the subject. 

“The monster is a Shaelmaar,” Geralt replied, staring at the shore as you reached it and the boat lurched. “You know what a Shaelmaar is, right?”

“Of course I know what Shaelmaar are,” you replied, letting Dettlaff gather you to his lap as Geralt hopped out of the boat and pushed it onto the beach with the three of you still in it. “They’re like big, pebbly chickens.”

Dettlaff snorted, setting you down on the ground after safely displacing you from the water’s edge. 

“Oh- _kay_ ,” Geralt replied, sounding like his mood had soured a bit since the recent development in Regis’ emotional state. He pulled the rope of the boat tight around a tree, “So, we have to - meaning I have to - brew bait to lure Chicken Pebbles over there to us.”

“Uh-huh,” you exchanged a look with Dettlaff, who also picked up on the witcher’s mood. Dacreval chirped happily, signaling he was finished, and you felt his tiny little claws crawl up your chest before he started happily flying around the two of you. 

He was in a big flying stage.

“Geralt,” Dettlaff said, his deep voice sounding nearly ridiculous around the witcher’s name as the three of you began traipsing through the trees up towards the crow building, Dacreval swooping and in and out overhead, “you do not need to see him right now-”

“No,” Geralt cut in, “Kinda curious about what he’s like, and I’d rather see for myself when I have the choice than for it to be sprung on me.”

Dettlaff's hand tightened around yours, though his energy did not change, and he nodded. You reached the top of the first hill and turned towards the building up the dirt path, the first sounds of crickets chirping filled the air and delighted Dacre, who began investigating them.

“Besides, might ask him to brew me the bait, if he’s reasonable.”

“Oh,” you dug the vial Jean-Luc’s blood from your pocket and tossed it to him, “there you go.”

“And if he’s not?” Dettlaff asked with genuine curiosity, his beautiful face dappled in the traces of sunlight that perforated the canopies and patterned the forest floor. 

“We’ve been through a lot in our friendship, Regis and I. So, if he’s not reasonable,” Geralt rapped his fist on the old, wooden door to the building, “then I’ll _speak_ to him about it.”

The door flew open and Regis was standing in the doorway, he cocked his head to the side, and smiled, tightly at Dettlaff and Geralt. 

“Good-” the older vampire stuck his head out of the framework, regarding the sky before returning it, “evening.” 

He pivoted and walked back inside the building, leaving the door open.

“Huh,” Geralt’s jaw jut out to the side before he rolled it and nodded his head, “guess I’ll ask about the bait, then.” 

He followed Regis into the building.

Dettlaff squeezed your hand, and you felt him tense. You felt him really, really tense. Probably, you realized, because you had tensed. 

“He loves you very much,” Dettlaff reminded you, “none of these feelings are about you.” 

He rolled you into the length of his arm, curling it around you, and kissed you. Dacreval landed on his shoulder, and you squinted at his mouth before realizing that he had a cricket in it, offering it to his dad. Dettlaff’s eyes lit up and he smiled at you, and you realized you were smiling back. He lifted his hand, palm up, to Val and your son released the small, dead bug into his hand and trilled happily, before climbing somewhere onto the back of his jacket. Dettlaff examined the cricket, then looked at you as if he were trying to figure out what to do with it. 

“We’ll get a jar,” you offered, and he nodded as if it were an executive decision. Dettlaff waited, and with how captivated you were by the way his eyes were absorbed in yours, took you a few moments for you to realize he was waiting on you. "Oh!" His smile opened up further as you opened your pouch and grabbed a small glass container with a lid that would have to do for now, you opened it and, a grin on his face and his light eyes never leaving your expression, dropped the cricket into the container. You went to your tiptoes and kissed his cheek, thankful that he was the father he was, and he wrapped his arms around you further, placing his face on your shoulder and inhaling. 

“He’s nervous,” Dettlaff whispered, “I’m not so sure that he wants you to see him like this.” 

He sounded sad, but there was a little bit of something else there, too.

“Dettlaff,” you started, and he nodded, “since you can feel this baby,” he nodded again, “and since we all kind of acknowledge it is partially you,” his energy was stuck in a place between overjoyed and overwhelming guilt, “could it possibly be that you…”

He squeezed you.

“That some of what you’re saying might be motivated slightly, by your own hormones being triggered?”

Dettlaff’s body stilled, and a low rumbling sound emitted from him. 

“No,” he said into your shoulder, then sighed. “What I’m saying is true, Maina, but I do feel it creeping. It is already happening to me, too, I think.” 

His chest was pushing up against you, slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized remorsefully, his face pushing further onto your shoulder, and you stroked the back of his neck where his hair curled and bobbed, “I want to be here for you.”

“It seems early for Regis to feel this way, this intensely,” you observed, and he nodded. 

“I agree,” Dettlaff stated right as the door opened and Geralt strut out of the building, pocketing what had to be Shaelmaar bait.

“All-right,” he let out, his voice a little pitchier than normal, “so he’s a little tense. Nothing I can’t handle.” 

You dislodged yourself from Dettlaff and turned to Geralt. “Yeah?”

He didn’t look very confident. 

“Let’s get going,” Geralt started walking back towards the boat and you began following him, frowning as you looked back at the door, Dettlaff’s hand in yours, “one thing the good doctor did tell me-”

“ Please do not refer to him as the good doctor-” you pleaded.

“...seems a little disrespectful…” Dettlaff mumbled under his breath, lifting you by the waist over a rock and setting you down on the other side of it.

“-is that if you’re going to help me with the Shaelmaar, you’d better do it now and see him later,” Geralt finished, talking over his back at you as he untied the boat. “Oh,” he added, “I told him about Damien...figured one good thing that could come from his entire being moody would be if he accidentally threw that overgrown…” He trailed off when he stood up and pivoted on his heel to the sight of you, Dettlaff, and a sleepy Dacreval hanging from one of his dad’s coat buckles standing behind him.

“Well _get in,_ then.”

-

The four of you were waiting patiently in the tunnel filled cave. 

No. That was a lie. Geralt, Dettlaff, and Dacreval were waiting patiently for this Shaelmaar, the one which Geralt kept fucking infuriatingly referring to as Chicken Pebbles now - to absolutely no one’s amusement but his own. 

“So you’re just going to kill this thing?” you weren’t very happy about the situation at all, “even though it did nothing wrong.”

Geralt was silent.

“ _Me-_ nah,” Dettlaff, laying on the floor of the cave and watching Dacre sleep on his chest, sang your name in that deep voice of his and you shivered at how simultaneously beautiful and angering to you that was. 

“ _Yes_ , darling?” you answered.

“You _know_ ,” Geralt cut in, kneeling a few feet from Dettlaff with his eyes closed and his palms on his thighs, “Shaelmaars tend to run away from noise if either of you want to _shut it_.”

You turned on your heel and paced the other way, “ _You_ know, Geralt, you’d probably have an easier time meditating if you hadn’t snored through the night.”

“I don’t sleep,” he stated, then cocked his head to one side and back as the corners of his mouth turned down playfully, acknowledging that this was a false statement. 

“ _See_?” you told him.

Dettlaff snorted in an amused sort of fascination, shaking his head at the humans, you thought. The humans in their matching armor. 

The two of you really were a road show.

“Fine,” Geralt sighed histrionically, “but I definitely don’t snore.”

“Me-nah,” Dettlaff sang again, and you stopped pacing.

“I know I’m pacing!” you looked at him, feeling his energy oscillate in a happy way and felt your heart flutter. His eyes were dancing off you in the dark cave, as if just being able to watch you brought him great joy...because it obviously did. 

Just then you felt a rumbling, and Dettlaff was by your side before you realized what had happened. The Shaelmaar was rolling through the opening, and Geralt had tossed something in its way, you squinted...a Samum bomb. 

You filled your body with energy as the large beast rolled on the outer rim of the cave, Dettlaff picking you up by the waist and placing you in its center, out of the relict’s trajectory. 

“Can you relax?” you asked him, getting an idea. 

“What?” He squinted at you, checking to make sure Dacre was still impressively asleep on his buckle then holding your waist more firmly, before answering, “of course.” 

His energy became soft and just slightly warming, almost tingling. It reminded you of a summer afternoon you had as a child, the warm sunlight on your stomach, you drew circles over it, not having a care in the world…

You opened the world into Krael’ef, and felt more energy rumbling through you and you cut it off, closing your eyes and trying to stay reminded of that summer afternoon, that calm, or the doorway would be shut and, as Yennefer had put it - you’d be harmed. 

The rumbling of the Shaelmaar’s approach nearly broke your concentration, but you remembered the feeling, you opened the doorway further, then further, then suddenly you were being pulled backwards, back further - you could feel your mate along with you and you opened your eyes to see that you were in the cave - or a version of it - as your ass hit the ground, the Shaelmaar rolling towards you. 

You grabbed Dettlaff’s arm and - when you opened your eyes again, were in the real cave once more.

Geralt was standing in the center of it, his chest heaving, hands tight on the hilt of his silver sword and looking around alarmed. 

“What,” he sheathed it, standing up straight, still assessing his surroundings, “the fuck,” he walked over to you both and extended two hands, “did you just do?”

You and Dettlaff popped up. 

“I,” you started guiltily, patting the thighs of your armor of dust and checking on Dacre, who was still sleeping, “I didn’t want the shaelmaar to have to die.”

You swallowed. _Yen is going to kill you, Maina._

“Um, so I just... put it in Krael’ef, for now.”

Dettlaff was already biting his lip from his amusement, but also his obvious and apparent arousal, and Geralt’s eyes got wide before he shook his head and threw up his arms. 

“So you put it in the world of a thousand unanswered questions?!”

“It’s not called tha-”

“With _no_ food,” he continued, looking around the cave.

Your head pitched to the side as you watched the witcher.

“All by _itself_ ,” he added, picking up the empty vial of monster bait.

“You were going to _kill_ it,” you reminded him, and he stopped, “besides, there are other living things there. It’ll be fine. It’ll be better than dead.”

“I guess,” he shrugged, going back from one-hundred to zero again.

“Paeveis seqvii, nai,” _'He really fears that world,'_ Dettlaff acknowledged.

“What?” Geralt asked him, Dettlaff looked at him expressionlessly.

“I said you fear the other world, witcher,” he stated simply, before picking you up and kissing your face. “The act was impressive.”

“First of all,” Geralt started, the four of you making your way to the cave’s opening, “yeah, the idea of that place freaks me out.”

“I do not like it, either,” Dettlaff agreed, plucking Dacreval from his buckle, lightly kissing him on his stomach, and gently guiding his little claws to a similar buckle of your armor until they pinched onto it.

Geralt nodded, “Second,” he hoisted himself out of the cave and extended an arm to you where Dettlaff held you up, “it sure as hell was impressive.” 

You smiled at him as he pulled you up and he winked at you, before frowning.

“Gotta ask, though,” he reached out, petting Dacre with a lone, gloved finger, “does a certain sorceress by the name of Yennefer allow you to do that?”

You blushed guiltily as Dettlaff popped up from the cave and crossed his arms, waiting for a reply from you, too. 

“Maybe not,” you admitted. 

Geralt opened his mouth-

“You must be careful... my Maina,” Dettlaff’s voice was in your ear, kissing it as his large hand curled around yours and you started off towards Jean-Christophe’s house in the brisk night air. 

Geralt closed his mouth and nodded, following the two of you. 

-

Geralt bid goodbye to the two of you on the bank near the Graveyard, where Dettlaff sensed Regis still was and possibly would insist on being for a while. 

“I’ll bring Mers over tomorrow,” the witcher grinned, tossing you your earnings in a small canvas sack. 

You caught it and smiled, before you and Dettlaff began in the direction of the Crow Building. The stars were out, and it smelt nice everywhere. Maybe it was because of yours and his connection, but you thought maybe Regis was right about the graveyard. It did have its charm. Dettlaff’s energy spiked happily at the ease of your mood, before your nerves started kicking in again.

_It’s fine, Maina. It’s Regis._

_...Boy, if I had a copper for each time I’d thought that in this graveyard…_

Suddenly you had an arm wrapped around you, and Dettlaff was kissing you on your lips. You sighed, taken aback, and ran your hands through his hair. His long fingers gripped the sides of your armor, and his thumbs rolled over it before he parted from you and kissed your forehead. 

You could hear the smile on his face when he breathed, “you’re wearing the breastplate I gave you.”

Dettlaff closed the door to the building and you looked down it’s long hallway to see that Regis had the fire going in the study. 

“How is Regis when he's with you?” you whispered, opening the door to Dettlaff’s old room and the two of you began putting your son to bed. Dettlaff took a bottle out of his dark leather frock coat with an elongated nipple for Dacre when he was in his bat form, and you held him up to the vampires long fingers as he gently opened his mouth and fed him a few droplets of the deep beige liquid. 

“He’s fine,” Dettlaff replied, massaging Dacreval’s belly with his thumb before kissing you on the forehead and getting the crib ready. 

_Damn_ , you thought, _he really got this room together fast._

“He helped with this room,” Dettlaff added at your wandering eyes as he placed four separate pillows into Dacreval’s crib, who was changing back into his human form in your arms. 

“It’s amazing that he can sleep through his transformations, now,” your heart fluttered at the sight of your son, and you felt Dettlaff’s energy surrounding you. This was so much. 

“It is beautiful,” your large mate stated as it as an absolute truth. When you looked up and saw that he was staring at the two of you, weren’t certain he was referring to only Dacreval’s transformations. 

You brought him over to his crib, handing him over to Dettlaff, and noticed that the bed in the room was a double as Dettlaff cradled Val in his arms, kissing him on one of his small chubby cheeks, before placing him down on the little mattress. “He is growing so much,” his voice was throaty and proud and his arm wrapped around your waist, bringing you to him. 

The palm of your hand found his chest, and he held it in his large, clawed one before gently guiding your head to rest against his front, embracing you. 

He kissed the top of your head before resting his cheekbone there and whispered, “my darling.”

After putting on different clothes and ensuring Dacre was fully asleep - a job that the two of you often enjoyed performing together, which consisted of the two of you watching your son in a restful state for an arbitrary amount of time until deciding he was, indeed, fully asleep - you both walked out of the room and shut the door behind you. You had changed into a sleeveless nightgown, now that you were wearing them again, and Dettlaff into his red long underwear - which he looked beyond inviting in. He looked like a beacon of sex and masculinity, and you tried not to think about it in order to function at all.

“Is Regis sleeping with us?” you asked him, and Dettlaff shrugged. 

“I placed a larger bed in there, one that will fit us all,” he nodded to your old room, trying to hide his devilish grin, “but there is also one in the study for Regis when he needs space.”

You frowned, feeling a pang in your chest. Dettlaff’s thumb massaged your cheek, and he whispered, “sometimes he needs space, my darling.”

You nodded into his hand, feeling teary eyed, “so are we just living here now?” Dettlaff kissed your forehead, “is that the plan?”

“I believe,” he lowered his head so that you could look into his startling, light blue eyes, “that the familiarity will help him.”

The light cast from the fire Regis’ built flickered and drew your attention to it, you nodded. “We still need to take care of his garden…”

You thought of what he did to the courtyard.

“Everything will work itself out, my Maina,” Dettlaff assured you, a hand going to the small of your back, guiding you down the hallway, “it is not as if the estate isn’t just up the road.” 

_I guess they did grin and bear it for awhile…_

The end of the hallway was drawing nearer, and you took a deep breath, entering the dimly lit study. 

Regis was sitting at his desk - it appeared as if he had been writing, but now was merely massaging his temples. He lifted his head. 

“Regis,” you whispered, and he swallowed.

Any unsteadiness you had had towards him vanished in the moment his hesitant eyes met yours, and you ran to him, embracing him. His back pushed up against the desk and you heard the sound of a few books falling from their shelves but neither of you cared, he held you back, the leather of his vest pushing up against you. 

“How are you?” you asked, stroking the short hair of the back of his head and he held you tighter. 

“Less than satisfactory,” Regis’ voice was ashamed, “for our purposes.”

“I'm fine, Regis,” your body was rocking back and forth where you held the older vampire by his narrow waist and more slender frame. You hadn’t fully realized how much you missed him - how much you missed his scent or his ever searching and curious eyes…

“I apologize for us staying here,” he stated, “while keeping an incredibly expensive garden and post address.”

“It’s more than okay with me,” you stroked his back. Fine, so it was _mostly_ more than okay with you.

“I’m not much for conversation at the moment, not without coming off as an overbearing and supercilious ass-”

“Regis,”

“-and I can’t even bother explicating my demeanor around men at the moment, which you’ve no doubt noted by Geralt’s reaction, I’m sure, as being disdainful- ”

“Emiel,” you said sternly and Regis stopped, having heard his name, breathing. You brought his face nearer your bare shoulder, and you stroked his head encouragingly. 

The older vampire’s arms held you tighter and he breathed you in, resting his face on your shoulder, “Maina.” 

Regis’ kissed your skin where his face rested, before his sharp teeth grazed it. Gently, he cupped it with them, moving the pointed ends of his growing fangs up your body, sending shivers down your spine, to your neck. He swallowed, and you palmed the fleshy side of his jugular, “I love you,” you whispered. 

Regis bit, hard, and you gasped from the pain of it. He sucked both air and blood through his mouth as if to calm himself, and he cradled your head with one of his hands, his claws stroking your scalp soothingly as his other tightened around your waist, bringing you taut to his person with a lustful moan.

Dettlaff’s large body pressed up against your back, his cedarwood and musk filling your nostrils and his energy soothing you further. His muzzle went to your neck on the opposite side of where Regis was latched, and his fangs grazed you, as well. 

You closed your eyes from the warmth of them both as Dettlaff _bit_. 


	4. Hormone Suppressant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maina adjusts to the Graveyard, Regis pushes himself to deal with Geralt in a humane way, the gang gets invited to two different events - upping Dettlaff's doublet game, and Dacreval is really, really trying to get his first word out.
> 
> I almost named this chapter Hormone Suppressant Part 1 of ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently my fics begin with quality, best bud Geralt time. XD
> 
> Enjoy!

There wasn’t a lot to be said about living in the graveyard again, other than it made you want to stretch your legs outside more often. _Much_ more often, even. Which is what brought you outside with your son, making up your mind that you had something to do other than read that textbook Yennefer had mailed you a few weeks ago. The sky was clear, the weather was warm and the birds were chirping, and that was enough to make you _very_ happy.

“...Damn it,” you sighed at the dulling shears in your hand. 

Okay, _almost,_ very happy. 

You _just_ wanted to prune this arenaria bush. _The arenaria bush._ That was all you were asking. It was your first time in Mers’ enclosure since returning, the one Regis had cleared for him last year, and the entire thing was understandably, completely overgrown...not that Mers seemed to mind it. His energy had been a consistent cheerful, and hung tangibly in the air the entirety of your trimming efforts thus far. You looked over at him, fighting a frown. You wished you had something other than an old pair of glorified scissors to get the job done. To get this stupid, ridiculously obnoxious arenaria bush...

“Dacre,” you grabbed the next branch, thinking about how much you hated skirts, which were conveniently all that was clean of yours right now. All that was clean of yours or not, you were absolutely holding out on being the first one to do laundry here. 

No, you didn’t really think either Regis or Dettlaff would ever expect you to do laundry, and you probably did laundry a lot worse than either of them, but still. You weren’t going to be the first. It didn’t make sense why it was important to you but you didn’t care. If Regis got to be a little crazy right now, so did you.

Well, maybe that was it. The principle of it all.

“Pass me the other shears,” you ended, clipping the branch with a _snip_ before turning to your son, who was sitting happily in the patchy grass- covered in dirt. Lately, it seemed he enjoyed being spoken to like a fellow adult, at least in his human form. You thought it was because he himself was trying to talk more. He giggled, red hair illuminated in a speckle of sunlight, and he clapped his hands clumsily together at your large, dark horse.

Nerves melting to a calm batter, you walked over to the shears’ bucket, plucked out a specimen that looked just as rusty as your current one, and groaned, frowning again.

 _Dettlaff or Regis could just…_ you sighed, suddenly feeling grossly covered in dirt _...just do this_ much _faster._

You could hear Dacreval starting to practice his own versions of words when you felt another happy energy trickle in around you.

_Roach?_

Turning to face your living quarters, you nodded to yourself. Yonder several tombstones, Geralt was dismounting the mare in a new, innovatively flippant way. He didn’t bother with tying her up to anything before jogging over to the enclosure just visible from where he rode in. 

Dacreval was _thrilled_ to see his tosi _._

“Tomatoes?” the witcher called to you, eyeing the new tomato plant in the corner of the pen and swinging his leg over the fence as he reached it. You went back to your arenaria.

“Yeah, things are getting dire,” you clipped another branch, voice deadpan. _‘Just for a few weeks,’_ you recalled Regis’ words and shook your head before letting loose on the bush.

_Few weeks, my ass._

Snip. 

Snip. Snip.

But you could feel a faint smile growing on your face despite yourself.

“I think they’re trying to convince themselves they don’t just want to live here _permanently,”_ you chuckled over your shoulder. The image of Dettlaff’s and Regis’ _more_ than enthused demeanor about being back in a damn _crypt_ came to mind. They were as transparently elated about the situation as one could get. Your voice dropped to a mumble as your toes tingled, "I guess I'm the one who fell in love with vampires..."

“Mers doesn’t eat them?” Geralt asked, his approaching voice took on a slightly different tone when he greeted Dacreval, who was still blissfully telling you both about something neither of you could understand.

“Mers doesn’t what?” you spun to face Geralt, who was just cradling the gabbing, pointy toothed Val to his side.

He raised an eyebrow at your skirt, and smiled flirtatiously, “Nice _twirl_ , Maina.” 

I _really, really hate these skirts._

“The tomatoes,” he went on to clarify, shaking the finger Dacreval held clasped in his grips free to point at the plant, then your horse, “Roach would have eaten them in a second.”

Your eyes narrowed at the brown mare. 

“She can have them if she wants,” you threw down your shears and the two of you started walking towards the gate. 

A breeze ran through the air and up the slope of the hill, posing a very convincing pro-dress argument.

“So,” Geralt swung himself over the fence, Dacre clasped to his waist, “what was it you wanted?” 

He flipped open the gate for you before you yourself could hop the fence, indicating your clothing with a bob of his head. You took your son from him.

“I have something to give you,” you pushed the gate closed with your butt, ignoring Geralt’s newly soured expression as you walked passed him and down the small hill towards the back of the crow building. 

“Huh,” the witcher skipped up behind you, “What’s he got in his hand?” 

You smiled at your son’s tiny balled fist, “Let me see, Val!”

He set a small object in your palm and you examined it, while also trying not to trip over your own two feet as you rounded the corner to the front of the crypt. It was just as you expected, “Another cricket.”

“ _Another_?” Geralt's brows pushed together as he opened the front door.

“He’s been catching them,” you offered, walking inside.

“Yeah,” you heard the door close behind you, “well that clears things up, then.”

  
  


-

You set Dacre on the bed and walked over to the top drawer of your dresser, ignoring Geralt, who was clearly eyeing the size of the bed in your peripherals. 

“So,” he looked around, resting his weight up against the wall, “Where’s everyone else?”

“Regis finally went to see Damien,” your hand searched through Dettlaff’s surprisingly thorough assortment of small clothes...all conveniently black in color. 

_All conveniently a little snug in the crotchal region..._

“Um, and Dettlaff,” _how many of these are silk? Focus_... “and Dettlaff is _apparently_ getting fitted for his wedding doublet or whatever it is he’s decided on, even though I think it’s more likely he’s procrastinating, probably drawing in a field somewhere- here it is!”

You tossed the small, black pouch at Geralt and leapt onto the bed next to Dacreval, who bounced slightly and grabbed his toes, making a beautiful ‘yaya’ sound. 

“ _What are you trying to say?_ ” you asked him, tickling the pads of his feet as he rolled- babbling incoherently to you. You beamed at him, and he beamed back. His eyes had started getting lighter recently, and they looked nearly identical to Dettlaff's, now. His red hair was _thick_ and getting kinda long, actually.

“Maina,” Geralt’s voice was low and raspy, and you realized he was still looking at the small cat figurine you’d given him, “Don’t want or need this.” 

It smacked you in the chest where he’d tossed it. 

“ _Ow,”_ you clasped your hand to your sternum, scoffing as he leaned up against the bed post, crossing his arms. You rolled your eyes, “and why not?”

He shrugged, “don’t plan on going to Krael’ef, do I?”

“It’s just to keep you safe,” you threw it back at him. 

Geralt’s jaw fell open a hair before catching the cat sans effort, then started pushing the figurine past some sort of barricade in his butt pocket, “Surprised you’re still having the wedding.”

“Wadada di!” Dacreval added, all six of his pointy teeth showing. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, knowing full well what he meant.

_Regis could be inconsolable at times...right now...to anyone other than yourself..._

“You know exactly what I mean,” he replied, sitting on the bed and putting Dacre in his lap who, per usual, started reaching for any scarred or bumpy areas of the witcher’s skin. 

Geralt looked at you meaningfully, and you deflated. Flailing backwards on the bed and looking at your beautiful little baby, your other hand went to the small of your stomach, and you realized you were smiling, in a daze, “He’s not _that_ bad.”

He really was. However, there was a part of you- and this was kind of shameful to admit- that kind of _liked it._ Maybe it was because you were pregnant, but you hadn’t really begun to _feel_ pregnant yet, so maybe that wasn’t it, but his protective nature made you feel safe. He was never snarky or upsetting to _you_ , mostly just anyone around you who wasn’t Dacreval, Dettlaff, or Mers. But it's not like he was that bad to Geralt, _either._ At least _you_ didn't think so.

Nearly on cue with your thoughts, the hairs on the back of your neck started to rise just as the door to the room creaked opened.

“We’ve received from Orianna an invitation,” Regis was fiddling with his herb pouch as he strolled through the doorway, indicating a parchment letter in his large, clawed, free hand, “to attend some sort of three-day festival,” a snort flew out of him, but it didn’t hide his obvious excitement, “I penned an RSVP to her before leaving Beauclair,” the back of his head nodded, apparently finding what he needed in his pouch, “it’s taking place in or near the Rioux-Cannes outpost- a fact I find rather surprising, as it was to my knowledge abandoned,” he clasped his pouch shut and hung it on the back of the door, shoulders bobbing in amusement, “ _more_ peculiar yet, it nearly reads as an obsecration to a _sporting_ event…”

Regis’ voice trailed off as he turned around and saw Geralt sitting on the mattress. His excited, if not puzzled expression disappearing entirely. The sizable, clawed hand that held the piece of mail out to you fell and he pursed his lips together _tight._

“Regis,” Geralt smiled easily, placing Dacreval on the sunlit bed before standing up. 

One of the surgeon barber’s brows lifted, his lips parting to reveal interlocked fangs.

He did _not_ look happy. 

“ _Ger-_ alt,” Regis' nostrils flared as he shoved his friend’s name through his sharp, just visible teeth. It sounded as if he’d tried to make the greeting sound surprised and lighthearted, but failed completely. So completely that it almost sounded like a _threat._

Like a _challenge._

“Regis,” you stood, but he didn’t look at you. The letter in his hand was crinkling and he started to back up until he hit the wall. His breathing was heavy when he nodded, opened the door without looking at the knob behind him, and left.

Geralt sounded like a dying cow with the varying noises that expelled from his person after the door clunked _shut_ , and you appraised him with a tense forehead, not knowing if he was trying to express relief, or surprise, or…

“Phe _woly_ _shit,”_ he ran a hand through his hair, eyes getting a little wider. _Was he going to laugh?_ You’d kill him. 

“Can’t say I’ve seen him like that, before,” he added, shifting his weight unsteadily.

Your attention went to the door, “actually, neither have I.”

“Did you see his _eyes?”_

“I did,” you started, picking Dacreval up and holding him to you. You didn’t want to have to ask Geralt to leave for Regis. 

_He’s a four hundred and some odd year old true higher vampire. He should be able to handle himself…_

But you actually didn’t think he could. 

“Hey, Geralt,” your voice was hesitant.

“Don't,” he ordered before you could continue and stepped to the door, opening it. Your body went a little rigid as he popped his head out, looking down the hall towards the study. 

Your eyes get wide.

“...Geralt,” you started to warn, and he answered by giving you a surprisingly determined look before eyeing the study again.

“I think exposure is probably the best cure, huh?” he pushed off the door frame and waltzed into the hallway. You jumped into following him.

“ _Geralt!”_ you whispered, “ _I don’t think now is the ti-”_

“Now is the _only_ time, Maina,” he replied, not bothering to whisper, smiling at Dacre even though he looked otherwise annoyed. His pace quickened and his voice grew louder, “Regis and I have been friends for a _long_ time, he should understand.”

It was obvious that he had intended for Regis to hear the statement by the way he stretched his neck out as he said it. 

“ _Hey_ ,” you snapped your finger at him, starting to feel a little heated by his behavior, but he kept walking.

That was it. Grabbing Geralt by the arm, you stepped out in front of him and _finally_ he stopped walking. He looked genuinely surprised- his nose turned down to you, head cocked to the side, hardly daring to smirk. 

_Good._

“You listen to me,” you pointed your finger at him, “Regis is trying his best, Geralt. He isn’t doing this to _hurt your feelings.”_

The last part came out almost a little mocking.

“Even though I’m sorry for that because it obviously _is_ hurting your feelings,” you added quickly. 

Geralt’s face twitched ever so slightly.

You kept your finger up at him. 

“This might take awhile, so you need to be considerate. I’ll talk to him about it, but it could take time before he’s comfortable with you being around me-”

“He’s _never_ been comfortable with me being around you,” Geralt interjected, his tone frustrated and to your surprise, hurt.

A trickle of something close to shock or disbelief halted your thoughts, and you felt it in your heart. You’d never really seen him show his emotions on the matter, even though you knew he had them for showing. Your throat was getting dry, and you licked your lips. 

“That may be,” you replied, a little of your confidence wavering as you shoved any anger at Regis about it away for the time being, “I said I’ll talk to him about it.” 

You paused, trying to recollect your misplaced diatribe.

“Is it because I’m _young?”_ Geralt asked, his lip suddenly twitching.

A bay escaped you.

“ _Century Fresh_ , as they say,” you replied, grateful for his humor. _He probably isn’t that far off though,_ you thought, eyeing the door to the study behind you. “Listen, now isn’t the time to bring this up. It doesn’t seem fair to Regis or you that this is the moment _you_ should choose to do this because I don’t think he can explain or even _assess_ himself.”

You were met with the sharp eyes of an indiscernible expression. Geralt’s chest expanded widely before he looked up over the top of your head at the door to the study and pursed his lips. He gave a short grunt at the door... and at himself, too, you thought. 

“Fine.”

Your eyes widened. 

“Um,” your tone was surprised, “good. Thank you.” 

Geralt crossed his arms. 

“Well?” he nodded the end of his chin to the study behind you and you stared at its old, wooden door for a millisecond before whipping your head back to him. 

“What? _Now?_ While you’re _here?_ ” 

Geralt just gave you a look, and you cupped your face with your hand, before putting it to his arm and, with his reluctance, started guiding him out of the building. 

_He’s finally lost it._

Before you could make it three steps in the opposite direction, though, you heard the unmistakable sound of Regis clearing his throat. The two of you stopped, turning to face the older vampire walking out of the doorway.

“My apologies,” he stated, sounding more like himself and brushing something off the front of his vest as he rounded the corner to the kitchen, beckoning the two of you to follow him. 

Your mouth slacked before you eyed Geralt, who threw up his hands and followed the older vampire. 

-

  
  


The kitchen of the crow building always gave you a lot of comfort, with its mostly cave-like interior and one small, round window at the breakfast nook. That, and Regis’ new baking kick was _beyond_ approved by you, with his muffins, pies, and even pastries. You reminisced a particularly delicious peach tart he’d made the week prior while shoveling another bit of blueberry small cake into your mouth, savoring the sweet bread.

Regis’ body smelled _incredible_ right now for some reason, and he was just informing you that after this lunching he would have to brew more of a concoction he invented last night to help him through his... _mood swings._ He was pretty nonchalant about the fact that he composed it over the span of several _hours,_ a feat you were dumbly impressed with and ogling at him over.

The way he _smelled_ to you right now probably played a role in your ogling, too.

“So, you have to brew this hormone suppressant _how_ often?” Geralt’s brow raised, still looking unconvinced where he sat kitty-corner to you in the booth. 

“I acknowledge the shelf life is short,” Regis’ hand squeezed around your thigh and his lips grazed your neck absentmindedly, apparently unconcerned with making Geralt uncomfortable. His warm breath left your jugular as he looked down at Dacreval, who was perched on one of his splayed thighs and smiled, putting his head to your son’s. 

“Uh- _huh,”_ Geralt’s fork slowed as he punctured another piece of roasted pork with it, “and how long did you say it lasts?”

“It varies, and rather unpredictably I’m afraid,” Regis answered, bringing his forehead back up from where he had set it against Dacre’s and looked at Geralt, “I assure you it isn’t the last of the recipe’s shortcomings to be improved.” 

“Great,” the witcher set down his fork and leaned back in his seat, dissatisfied. 

“We have _it_ to thank, however, for getting me through that ghastly summons with Damien and his band of knights,” he popped a cherry tomato through his fangs, chuckling brightly when Val’s eyes widened, watching him. “Now _what_ was so curious about _that_ in particular, my little one?”

You finished the last bit of sweet cake with a smile and felt your thigh being squeezed again- the older vampire was now contentedly observing _you_ . It looked like he wanted to smother you with an entire _platter_ of small cakes... and anything else he could find to your liking. Your eyes ran down his sloping nose to his bold mouth, down his neck in his collared shirt...and the next thing you knew you had his fleshy thigh in your own hand, giving it a squeeze back, wishing you had some alone time with him. 

You readjusted your seat, realizing the rest of the kitchen again.

Regis’ nostrils flared, and you blushed, crossing your legs tightly.

You looked down at your plate. 

“Um,” you cleared your throat, noticing that Geralt had slapped his hand over the length of his face, “what did he want, anyway? Damien?”

The witcher’s gloveless hand slid down to reveal the _pointedly_ smirkless set of his mouth, “Yeah, mind telling us about that? When we ran into him it was,” his eyebrows lifted, “weird.”

You looked to the older vampire, who shrugged.

“Naturally he was searching for answers to questions that he had no intention of asking,” Regis’ long fingers left Dacre’s fluffy red hair and he gripped his glass, taking a sip from it, and placing it back on the table. “I’ve not the slightest idea of whether or not he was able to find his solution.” 

The three of you sat for a good long moment in silence, aside from Dacreval’s occasional babbles, before Regis- his gaze on the short glass cup he rotated with the ends of his long, vampiric fingers- continued on.

“It seems,” his forehead tensed in contemplation, “that he is _very_ interested in you, Dettlaff, and I, Maina.” 

His eyes flickered to Dacre on his lap, then to the small of your stomach, then back to the cup under his twirling fingers.

“Unless it’s about that silly book we stole,” he continued through your’s and Geralt’s grunt at the mention of it, “I find myself quite weary that Damien and his men- that the Duchess herself- might have a vested interest in us.” 

“Mm,” you frowned, nodding in agreement. “I really don't like Damien.” 

Geralt snorted, and you shot him a dirty look. 

“However, it seems we will have our own opportunity to pry, or give _them_ the opportunity to conclude that we are, indeed, rather boring and unworthy of their inquiries,” he pushed the cup out from under his fingers, “at La Fête de la Musique.”

Geralt snorted a second time before his eyes got wide and he wiped his chin of pork juices, “what did you just say?”

_La Fête de la...where have I...?_

“Where have I heard about this before?” you cocked your head, asking yourself aloud. 

“Francois,” Geralt muttered, shooing your hand away from the salt shaker before pushing your front backwards, out of his line of sight to Regis, “what are you going to do, _sneak_ in?”

“ _Francois_?” you questioned, face scrunching up as you tried to push Geralt's immovable triceps.

“Sneak in? _Hardly_ ,” Regis replied, plucking Geralt’s barring arm from in front of you and tossing it back to the witcher’s body as if he were discarding a dead fish, “we’ve been invited.” 

“waba- _wa_!” a sleepy Dacre blurted up at Regis, his entire body bouncing with the exclamation, causing a grin to surface on the vampire’s face. He excused himself from the room, taking your nap-time baby along with him. 

“Bet Dettlaff’s gonna love that,” Geralt barked loudly, crossing his arms, then he frowned and called after the vampire, “I don’t like this, Regis.”

You heard a faint, but sharp _‘shhh’_ come from the hallway at the witcher.

“So it’s a festival?” you asked Geralt, who now had his elbow on the table and his chin on his palm, squinting at the wall. 

“Yeah,” he started, “well, no, it’s more of a-”

“I had the opportunity to stop by Pierre's and inform our strapping, albeit disgruntled young Dettlaff he’ll need an extra doublet, if you _must_ know,” Regis’ expression grew another faint smile as he resumed his place beside you in the nook, “I’m sure he’ll just wear his coat in the sweltering heat come Orianna’s outing, as if no one will take notice.”

“What did he say about the news?” Geralt looked like he was _thoroughly_ enjoying this. 

“I didn’t wait for his response,” the older vampire’s dark eyes turned down and away from you, “the effects of the suppressant were wearing off and I felt an overwhelming need to be near Maina.”

You inhaled, and saw there was the slightest bit of color tinting Regis’ cheeks.

“Uh," you looked away from the incredibly loving, incredibly _distracting_ vampire. " _What_ is this event?” you asked, awkwardly looking to a rigid Geralt, who started to stand as you felt Regis’ arm wrap around you, pulling you closer to him.

“ _Well_ , I better get going,” Geralt said stiffly, smacking the sides of his thighs with his gloves, which were suddenly very interesting to him. You cocked your head at him. 

Then Geralt’s behavior started making more sense when you felt Regis’ muzzle brush your ear. His breathing was all you could hear, suddenly.

...You thought, maybe, his suppressant was starting to wear off.

“La Fête de la Musique is a private gathering, hosted by the Duchess every five or so years,” his velvety voice was gentle, and you felt his tongue on your lobe after the last syllable. “It is thus,” his long vampiric fingers stroked the small of your belly and you noticed a delicate protrusion there that hadn’t been earlier today, “a gathering for only the most salacious of high society..." His last words heated the wetness on your ear and a shiver ran down your spine. Regis' other hand was going to cup your jaw.

You turned your face to him, his warm, herbal smell encapsulating you, the tips of his fangs peeking out in a smile that was surprisingly shy. You shook your head and saw that it was getting less shy by the second and more aware of the witcher in the room. 

Then Geralt’s footsteps were decorating the hallway. Quickly, you kissed Regis on his thin, parted lips and slid out of the breakfast nook before he could pull you closer. 

When you saw him starting to follow, you put up your hands. His eyes looked slightly alarmed- slightly lost, and you nodded reassuringly at him as you backed up towards the hallway.

“I’m going to be right back, and when I come back, you’re going to show me how to brew this hormone suppressant so I can help you through this, okay?”

Regis’ nodded slowly, eyes wide, and began resting his face in one of his large hands as you turned and skipped after Geralt down the hall. The light from the door opening temporarily blinded you as you caught up to him outside.

"Wait,” you skipped, "when's our next contra-"

“You know who’s at my house right now?” Geralt asked before whistling to Roach. 

“Um,” you replied on his heels, still trying to make sense of what the hell all happened _inside_ , much less ready for questions about the goings on _outside_ of this graveyard. Then it hit you. 

_Fuck._

“Yennefer?” you smacked your forehead with your palm, thinking of the unread textbook she’d mailed you weeks ago.

Geralt stopped abruptly and you ran into his rear, falling backwards. He caught you by the forearm. 

“Maina, you keep doing that,” his husky voice was flat and lecturing as he pulled you back up, “in a few months,” he eyed your belly significantly, “that’ll become a problem.” 

You nodded, landing on your feet and brushing your skirts, “right.”

“And yes, Yennefer,” he reached for Roach’s reins as she trotted up to him, then flexed his jaw. “So don’t be late to your classes or whatever, alright? No matter how shitty Regis is feeling, got it?”

“That’s not a very fair statement,” you piped up defensively, feeling whiplash from each direction. 

_Wait a second…_

_I thought Geralt was over this_ pleasing Yennefer _business._

He looked at you, and you apparently had some sort of expression on your face because as soon as you opened your mouth he held up a newly gloved finger.

“ _Don’t.”_

“Rekindling the flame, eh?”

He pursed his lips, inspecting you out of the sides of his eyes, then relaxed a bit.

“I can’t tell,” he admitted, “she’s into women now, you know.”

“I know.”

“Yeah I know you know, you little shit,” he replied, acting serious until your eyes went wide and he smiled. “I’m kidding, Maina.”

He was just pulling himself up onto Roach when you felt Dettlaff’s energy surround you, and at nearly the same time, the door to the building opened to reveal a none to calm looking Regis. Geralt looked at the older vampire as you felt yourself being lifted up off your feet - Dettlaff’s body forming beneath you. 

His energy was anything but _cheery_. 

A deep, rumbling voice was suddenly in your ear, “I despise clothing.”

“ _Holy_ shit,” Geralt jumped in his saddle at Dettlaff's sudden materialization, “...vampires. ”

He pulled the reins on Roach, waving to Regis in the doorway, who was too busy going through what looked like a minor panic attack to notice before he closed the door on himself. Geralt’s face was _beyond_ disbelief when he turned to you, “Maina.”

Dettlaff’s muzzle stopped drawing circles on your face when he quietly _hissed_ , and suddenly you felt his energy do something funny. It felt like it seized, and he set you down, stiffly. 

You looked up at your dark haired mate, who had his eyes shut and was wearing a frown. 

_Oh, no. No._

No, it was a _scowl._

_Oh no, no no. No._

A very _dangerous_ scowl, and he clamped his brow down over his eyes, appearing unhappy about it. His jaw was tight. 

_Oh_ ... _just_ ... _damn it._

“Dettlaff,” you began, and his body started shaking, “Regis has created a hormone suppressant. It’s faulty, but it works when it works.”

The imposing figure did not move. _It’s really hitting him?_

You’d been desperately hoping it wouldn’t.

“Will you need some?”

He nodded, letting out a deep rumble, looking almost like he could cry.

...Or chuck a fully matured Griffin through the air.

“ _So_ , I’ll see you whenever your next lesson is, Maina.” Geralt’s voice cut the heavy air around you.

“What?” you turned to him, forgetting that he was even still here and _immediately_ felt Dettlaff wrapping an arm under your thigh, picking you up _again_ and forcing you to straddle his side. Apparently he’d made up his mind to just hold you and be territorial. 

_Did he smell this good a moment ago?_

Absentmindedly, you began weaving your fingers through your vampire's dark locks, massaging his scalp. His energy calmed, but hardly. 

“Yennefer is going to teach you at my place...guess she's tired of coming to _you_ ,” Geralt explained, turning Roach around completely, then eyed the large vampire who was leaning his head into your petting, “bye, Dettlaff.”

You stared after him for a second as he pushed Roach to a canter and rode away, freely. Then you looked at Dettlaff, who’s energy was clearly very much _relieved._

“Come on,” you held the side of his huge, handsome jaw, “Regis is going to show me how to brew the suppressant.”

The icy grey of Dettlaff’s eyes started thinning behind his growing pupils when you looked into them, and you swallowed at your own reflection.


	5. Find A Love That Will Make You...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt goes to Krael'ef, Dettlaff deals with insecurity, Regis bakes, Maina tries to navigate them at home and finds that, although they are indeed a lot to handle, she sure does love them.
> 
> This chapter just gets better as it goes, if you ask me.
> 
> CW’s in the end notes, and there are a feisty few.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a piece of art in this that I made yesterday!
> 
> Enjoy, y’all!!! Hope you like this chapter as much as I do!

/][][\

“Alright, I’m out of here.”

“Geralt, _do_ shut up,” Yennefer pushed through the cave’s dark tunnel, a steady glow of light emanating from her palm, “need I remind you that we wouldn’t _be_ here at all had you not taken Maina on your little shaelmaar hunting expedition?”

The dark hair of the sorceress swayed almost dutifully in the low light as she strolled, unalarmed. Geralt, however, had his silver drawn and was checking every crevice- large or small- the tunnel had to offer. 

“I _told_ you,” his voice was exasperated, “it was a contract, and she wasn’t in any danger.” 

“Surely,” Yennefer replied, not interested in anything else the witcher could offer up. As the two of them met another dewy, rubbled surface she turned to the white haired man. He was obviously uncomfortable, but she thought, perhaps, that making him venture into Krael’ef to right his wrong would serve as a good... _lesson_ for him. She peered down the adjoining pathways, “These things do like to burrow, don’t they?”

She hardly sounded amused. She sounded lazily disappointed in the nature of a beast. Lighting the tunnel to the right, they made their way down it. 

“So,” Geralt shrugged, “you gonna stay tonight, too?”

The dark hair of the sorceress swished so extremely it hit her ears on either side, and she peered back at the witcher with a raised brow. 

“Miss my warmth?” she asked, the intentional coolness of her inflection made it humorous, and Geralt snorted. 

The sorceress’ lip curled as she turned her attention _forward_ once more. Shoulders lulling, the witcher sighed, and a sharp noise some tunnels over made his fingers squeeze the hilt tighter. 

“That a yes?” he pushed, still sensing at the source of the small sharp noise beyond the side of the cave, despite it having to be passages away. 

“Geralt, you _are_ aware that a shaelmaar is still a shaelmaar,” Yennefer turned and put a small hand on the dank wall the white haired man was eyeing suspiciously, the gleam from her hand’s magic illuminating the dirt’s sheen before exploiting its rough nature, “no matter which world it is in, yes?”

His eyes flickered to his breast pocket, to where he kept the cat figurine, and her mouth went taut in a smirk. 

“Oh for heaven’s sake Geralt, we’ll get the shaelmaar out of here and we’ll return to the…” her face snapped towards her hand on the wall- at the faint sound of a scream, “that was her, yes?”

“Yeah.”

The sorceress's hand started to glow brighter, and the tunnel’s side quaked beneath it. 

/][][\

-

‘ _I’m very disappointed in you, Maina,’_ you mumbled to yourself, mimicking Yennefer whilst hopping over a boulder with ease. You closed your eyes, pushing your energy out in search of the shaelmaar. 

You just didn’t think it was in this cave. 

_‘Well we won’t know for certain until we canvas the cave, will we?’_

You couldn’t feel a _thing_ in this underground labyrinth _._ Part of that was very comforting, seeing as most things you _did_ find in Krael’ef seemed to be unsettling. You shook your head at the thought of thin men, taking another turn. 

The other part of that, however, was _infuriating._ Infuriating that Yennefer didn’t just trust your powers enough to listen to you. She trusted you enough to send you into the tunnels _alone_ while she and Geralt got to stick together, but not enough…

You threw down the lantern. 

“How big is this cave?” you asked yourself aloud. 

_It’s miles long,_ you grimaced, _I’ve been at this for over an hour at least._

You shivered at the cold, and pulled your jacket collar higher. A glint up ahead caught your eye. Sighing, you picked up the lantern and, arm outstretched, made your way to it. You were getting pretty sick of your footsteps and your own voice being your sole companion. 

On the ground, the reflective thing became clear - it was a buckle. An ornate, bronze buckle. You dropped to your haunches and, picking it up, inspected it.

“Well, well, well,” you hummed, impressed, “what on earth are you doing here? Leftover from some past adventure?”

You pocketed it for now, then stood up and continued down the cave when you snagged the toe of your boot and fell forward. The lantern flew from your hand and rolled feet in front of you, and kept rolling as you landed on your front with a grunt, until it hit something and stopped. Wiping your eyes of rubble, you looked up and stilled. It illuminated a face, and you screamed. 

Then you felt a rumbling under your stomach.

The tunnel wall behind you exploded and Geralt rolled out of it, stopping on his foot in a squatting stance beside you.

“You alright?” he asked gruffly as the sorceress sauntered out of the chasm she’d just made.

“Y-yeah,” you blinked and saw from Yennefer’s light as she approached it, that the face belonged to a body. She crouched next to it, and you were surprised at how little she cared about it’s absolutely abhorrent, rotting state. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” she asked the body under her breath, prodding the clothes of it and sounding much like yourself with the buckle. She righted your strewn lantern as Geralt circled it and stalked off into the dark, searching for things you probably couldn’t sense even if you tried.

Slowly, you picked yourself and walked over to it.

“He looks young,” you frowned. He was probably only in his early twenties. You eyed his clothes, they were ornate, like the buckle.

“He _was_ young,” Yennefer acknowledged.

Your nose started to tingle, and you sniffed. 

That was odd.

“Does he smell... _off_ to you?” you asked, just as Geralt emerged from the shadows.

Yennefer raised an eyebrow as Geralt wafted dead body stink towards him.

“Actually,” his brows furrowed, “yeah. Like a flower, or something.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, are we really smelling the _body?_ ” Yennefer rolled her eyes, but you could see her nostrils flaring. Her expression changed and she stared at the young man’s remains. She sounded puzzled, “It’s Night Blooming Jasmine.”

“What’s that?” you asked. 

“It’s a flower that stinks during the evening,” Geralt chuckled, and you jumped, not having realized he was standing next to you again.

“ _Shh,”_ Yennefer hissed, clearly in thought.

Annoyed at her hushing, you fished out the buckle and showed it to her, “I found this not far from here.”

Yen eyed it quizzically, then her gaze went back to the body. 

“Well it isn’t his,” she cocked her head, “his clothes may be well tailored but _that_ ,” she nodded to your hand without looking, “is something else entirely.”

Your brows tensed at the small bronze thing in your hand, pocketing it again. 

“Maina,” Yennefer started and you looked at her, “you can take Geralt back, now. I believe our lesson has reached its conclusion, for today.”

“But-”

“We’ll resume next week,” she interrupted you, and you could tell by the tone of her voice that she meant it. 

“Fine,” you held Geralt by the shoulder, “do you have it?”

The witcher’s lips went tight, and he peered at Yennefer for a few seconds before he closed his eyes and nodded, “yep.”

With your other hand you opened an invisible gateway and walked through it, pulling Geralt along with you. 

You stepped out onto one of the several small, sloping backhills of Corvo Bianco. It was nearly shrouded in complete darkness aside from the light of the moon, which illuminated the short, soft grasses swaying in the balmy night air. It smelled sweetly of the last of spring.

“You can open your eyes now, Geralt,” your voice was level as you undid the strap across your midsection, walking towards the house. Another strap was in your grip as you pulled it, “She could have told me I didn’t need to wear any armor and save me the trouble of caging myself up in protective gear.”

“Well that _does_ take you a long time,” Geralt’s voice was suddenly full of humor behind you, then it became serious. “ _Actually_ , she probably _doesn’t_ know how bad you are at putting on armor and didn’t think about it.” 

“Pff,” you sighed, looking up the slope and removing your breastplate. A small circling of smoke was materializing on the side porch of Corvo Bianco and you squinted, trying to make out which of them it was. 

Then you felt it. 

“Dettlaff,” you smiled, and tried to wipe the sweat and dirt from your face before breaking out into a jog.

“What? _Oh._ Great.” Geralt’s voice became distant as you crested the hill towards the large, dark figure on the porch. 

Dettlaff’s energy was warm and soothing, which made you happy because it meant that not only was the suppressant working, he was taking it regularly. As you reached the top of the hill and as your legs started to ache, you looked up to see the reflection of the moon shine in his light grey eyes. The tall, shadowy silhouette disappeared in a moment, and a chill ran over your skin before he reappeared in front of you, his sharp teeth lighter than everything but his eyes in the moonlight. They disappeared back behind his lips in the quick smile. 

To anyone else, you were certain he would look absolutely terrifying. The sight made your knees weak as you took his large face in your hands and, standing on your tiptoes, looked up to kiss him. 

You felt his large thumb and forefinger on and under your chin, and smelled the calming, overwhelmingly pleasant traces of cedarwood and something sharper as it filled your lungs. Then his lips met yours, and you smiled into it. 

“Mmm,” his deep voice rumbled into you, “did you learn anything new?”

“Dettlaff,” you started as his lips parted again, only this time allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth, and you replied by allowing your own to run up the side of it. _Fuck._ You pulled it back, his lips becoming _very_ persuasive, and you pulled away. You were in Geralt’s _back yard._ “I’m supposed to be practicing a new move.” 

Dettlaff’s ardent, silver eyes appraised you and for a split second, you lost your train of thought. His deep, handsome voice followed the large hand that came to support your chin and jaw, “are you not practicing?”

He sounded worried. 

Something was making your face feel like it was burning, and you vaguely noticed Geralt grumbling past the two of you as you averted Dettlaff’s penetrating stare. His hand went to the small of your back, and he brought you closer to his large, muscular torso, still peering down at you with a caring intensity that one could not manufacture falsely. 

“Maina,” his deep voice resonated as his fingers wrapped around the cloth of your damp under armor, “what is it?”

His energy caved tumultuously and you bit your lip, only to feel another large hand again go under your chin, pushing it up so you would look directly at him. His expression was...perplexing, and difficult to place. His eyes were moving about yours.

Then he looked _hurt._

“Perhaps, then, you will tell _Regis_ ,” Dettlaff’s nostrils flared and he resigned from you, walking away _._ You almost gasped, instinctively lunging after him, and grabbed his wrist.

“Dettlaff?!” Your voice was surprised, and he slowed to a stop. You could see his torso moving up and down in the moonlight and his energy told you he was unsteady as well as unhappy. “Dettlaff?”

“Something is bothering you, Maina, but you won’t tell me,” Dettlaff’s voice was getting less steady, “I can sense it.” 

You pulled harder on the large, leather bound wrist in your hand until, reluctantly, Dettlaff turned to face you. He looked...less confident than what you were used to, and it was almost jarring. 

“Have I?” he began, then stopped. You saw his large Adam’s apple dip and his jaw flex. His eyes went very narrow as his head inclined, until suddenly, they shut altogether. “You’re my Acern Ara, Maina.”

It felt like something reached into your chest and started squeezing your heart. You _had_ been reluctant to express your unease about the wedding, and didn’t really know how to go about expressing it to either Dettlaff _or_ Regis without feeling like you were taking sides or causing a stir. You really didn’t know how to talk to him about how...how he _was_ when he became hormonal because you thought it might be hard for him to hear...and for some reason it _was_ really difficult talking about Yennefer and what she had you doing without either of them arbitrarily throwing a fit about it, even if all she wanted you to do was practice a _defensive_ move. Earnestly, one moment they were fine with discussing it - the next it was all _Yennefer is a threat_. You didn’t even know _which_ _type_ of threat they thought she was...

 _Still, Maina,_ you began to reason, looking up to the hurt, daunting figure in front of you, _it’s Dettlaff._

“I’m so sorry, honey,” he softened at the use of the pet name. 

You reached out and stroked his chin, then the side of his face on his cheekbone. He looked so guarded, now _._ You put your hands beneath his jacket, feeling his sides, and pushed them further around his muscular waist until they met behind him. You pulled the large vampire tight to your person, and his energy began thawing ever so slightly. He felt so good, near you, and you felt your heart pounding in your chest. “I promise I’ll be better at telling you how I’m feeling.” 

Dettlaff’s breath was in your hair, “I changed your name, today.”

_Well, that explains some of it._

“Thanks,” you replied, smiling, then giggled. “It’s as long as it used to be, now, so...y’know, _woo’hoo.”_

Dettlaff’s deep, rolling chuckle moved through you and his hands went to both the small of your back and the back of your head, “Hmm.” 

“Maybe you should add Terzieff-Godefroy to _your_ last name…”

A sharp, low bark penetrated the air and Dettlaff squeezed you tighter.

“No, _Regis_ will have to take my name, too, and we can forget Terzieff-Godefroy altogether.” 

_That_ would _do wonders to my lengthy last name predicament…_

A feeling in your gut quickly sobered you, “I don’t think Regis wants to forget his past quite like I do.” 

“Yes,” he replied, kissing the top of your head, “I think we should get back to him,” he kissed your head again, “he misses you.” 

You looked up at your large, beautiful vampire and smiled. 

-

The two of you reappeared on the path towards the Crow building, Dettlaff was setting you down and, as you started walking towards it, you gripped his hand tightly. The dark haired man looked down at your hand around his and closed his eyes, expression looking softer even still. 

You started to swing the arm that held Dettlaff’s hand, and his chest expanded, eyes peering at you in a certain gleelike wonder. He rumbled again. 

“Why didn’t you take us all the way inside?” you asked, looking up at the stars. 

Dettlaff’s fingers played with yours as your arms swayed. His swayed heavily, and less buoyantly than yours. It was more of an anchor, really. He hummed, and it sounded very close to a low purr.

“I enjoy walking outside with you,” Dettlaff replied, and you looked away from the stars and at him, his silver eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “You are so beautiful when you do.” 

Heat encompassed your face, and then everywhere else when he brought you in nearer, wrapping his arm around your waist for the remainder of the walk. 

  
  


When you opened the door, you immediately smelled freshly baked bread and audibly groaned. A happy groan. You were so, so, so, _so_ ready to eat more of Regis’ freshly baked bread. 

“Should you bathe?” Dettlaff asked, and you would maybe take offense to it if it weren’t for the fact that he only wanted you to bathe so that he could be naked and in hot water with you. 

_Mmmm._

“Actually, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” you smiled, and Dettlaff’s lips parted to show two lines of very, _very_ sharp teeth. You swallowed, and simultaneously felt your heartbeat quicken. “I’ll go tell Regis.”

_And eat some of his bread…_

Dettlaff’s smile wavered slightly, and you saw a flash of guilt on his face before he turned into your room.

You quietly opened the door to Dacreval’s room and smiled at the state of it, and very, _very_ much noticed that there was no Dacreval in it, anywhere. All the candles were still lit, too. 

“Regis,” you called, turning your head back from Dacre’s room as you made your way down the hall, though it was really Dacre’s, yours, and Dettlaff’s room, if the two of you wanted to be nearer to him.

“Maina? Was that you?” Regis replied from the kitchen, becoming more enthused with each word. You opened the door and saw a dough-and-flour-covered Dacreval and Regis. 

The sight of Regis taking care of your son sent something through you, and you inhaled sharply. Before you knew it, you’d hopped into his arms. 

And to your slight surprise, he was kissing you all over your face. 

“Maina,” he said between kisses, his herbal scent sweet and enticing, and exciting, his arms under your butt where you straddled him.

Regis set you down on the table and his lips found yours with a certain urgency you’d become familiar with when it came to either of the vampires. His breathing was audible and he growled, shivering.

“Regis?” you asked, and he held your body to his.

_Whoa._

Finally he kissed the top of your head, and peeled himself from you.

Smiling, he picked up Dacreval and took your hand. 

“Oh, will you grab that, dear?” he nodded to the plate on the table that had his bread, some jam, and some cheese atop it. There was also a pitcher of dark, red liquid next to it. 

“Wine?” you asked, wondering what kind of taste in wine Regis had. 

“Heavens, no,” Regis’ voice was surprised, and you turned to see him looking at you quizzically, “I haven’t had drinking alcohol in this crypt since our first lesson in vampiric.” 

A long finger on the hand that cradled your son went to his belly, tickling it. 

“It’s raspberry juice,” the older vampire concluded, and pulled you out of the room just as you grabbed the bread plate. You smiled as Regis pulled you in closer to him and Dacreval. Dacre _loved_ raspberry juice.

“Do you think it’s his favorite because it’s red, and he wants to mimic his fathers?” you wondered aloud. Then your arm tugged to a halt. You looked behind you to where Regis had stopped walking.

“Fathers?” he blinked. You cocked your head at him, and when you started to feel your eyebrows draw together at this question, he pulled you in closer again, kissing you. 

He was getting a little intense when he finally realized himself and pulled away. He _was_ carrying your son, after all. 

Regis cleared his throat as Dettlaff opened the door and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“The water is going to be too hot for a little while.”

-

Sprawled belly down on the floor next to the crib, you looked up from your crumb covered writing and the book Yennefer had given you. Dettlaff and Regis were playing with Dacreval next to the bed- the two grown vampires looking very cozy in their long underwear. Val was telling them an enthralling story, or so you imagined, and Dettlaff’s eyes were lit up in captivation. 

You pouted. 

“Dacreval sure has been in his human form a lot today,” you noted, wishing you could join them all _five feet away_ at the edge of the bed. Your head dropped back down to your work of _trying_ to translate a chapter on Defensive PsychoKinetics that Yennefer had ordered you to read by next week. It was in your native tongue, but you were also still learning vampiric, and so you called it a compromise by consolidating the two subjects into one. 

That and Regis himself then got the chance to learn more about psychokinetic magic by having it become part of your lessons. 

“He has,” Dettlaff replied, and you could hear the smile in his voice without having to look up.

Actually, _Dettlaff_ was taking the chance to learn more about psychokinetic magic through the lessons as well. You imagined that he, too, wanted to know what you were getting into with Yennefer on a deeper level- especially now that neither of them were quote-on-quote, _allowed_ to your lessons after the great aggression incident Regis had earlier this year. Or at least Yennefer had said their continual presence was now _highly discouraged._ You bit your lip. 

It had admittedly been a teensy bit arousing to witness Regis scold Yennefer for being condescending to you. It was like watching someone get smacked by an entire dictionary _and_ several volumes of ethical philosophies at once. 

And on your _behalf?_ Pfff...

Scanning the page absentmindedly, you adjusted the pillow underneath your chest.

That being said, it also made you aware that winning an argument with Regis would probably be near impossible. Not that you _hadn’t_ known that about him before, he just… became a little _more_ intimidating since that day. 

But not necessarily intimidating in a _bad_ way...

“That certainly doesn’t _smell_ like homework, Maina,” Regis chided and your face heated. 

“ _Dear,”_ you started, putting down your piece of charcoal, “if you don’t mi-”

You froze at the sight of Regis sitting on the floor across from you with his back leaning up against Dettlaff’s front, holding Dacreval in his lap (who was still quietly going on with his story). Regis had gone back to listening to Val, and now he and Dettlaff were making surprised and smiling faces at each of Val’s little exclamations, nodding along. Your body went prickly, and heat was surfacing in your rising chest and on your face - a burning kind - and you let it simmer, observing them, until Dacre went back to playing with his small jar of, now several in number, dead crickets.

When you swallowed hard, Dettlaff looked up from where he had started nuzzling his nose in Regis’ neck, and smirked at you. 

You swallowed again, returning a dumb smile.

_Good to see he’s over his fit of jealousy, for now._

Then his hold on Regis’ shoulder tightened ever so slightly, and the set of his mouth went straight, “Maina, you can use a quill and inkwell.” 

He gripped Regis’ shirt tighter, and the older vampire peeled his hand from him and, holding it in his own, cradled Dacreval. Dettlaff’s response to the feeling of his son was immediate. His energy soothed, and he rested his large face on Regis’ shoulder.

The sight of them wrapped around each other caused another wave of heat to roll over you, and _both_ of them looked up at you with smug smiles across their toothy faces when it did. The heat traveled to your face in a blush, and you snorted. 

Cursing their sensitivity to you as well as cursing yourself for getting so noticeably _aroused_ all the time, you looked back down at the chapter and frowned. You were _definitely_ going to have to reread the last few paragraphs. 

_Maybe working on this stuff with them in the same room_ isn’t _the most productive…_

You shook your head, banishing the thought. If anything was getting in the way of your studying it was yourself, made obvious by the sheer number of doodles littering the margins. Lips pursing, you retraced the paragraphs to the last one you recalled and began again. 

  
  


It was only a few minutes later that your meditative-like concentration was broken by a feeling. Dettlaff’s energy was growing louder, and when your book became shrouded in shadow, you looked up to see him starting to sit down next to you. He smelled _incredible-_ he _looked_ incredible in his snug, red long underwear, and the corner of his mouth twisted up in a crooked smile. 

Your brows furrowed in question.

Still grinning at you, the dark haired vampire snapped your book shut before his two, large hands encompassed your waist and, as gingerly as could be done, tossed you over his shoulder and stood with ease, walking towards the door. 

“Dettlaff!” you giggled. 

“It is _bath_ time,” his low voice caused his body to rumble slightly beneath you. Before you could protest, you saw that Dacreval was already asleep in his crib as the door shut. 

“Is the water even still warm?” you asked as Dettlaff strolled into the other bedroom, lit only by the fire where he had heated the water, and walked up to the large, metal tub. 

He patted your butt, “lets see if it is…”

The hand on your butt grasped your slip, and in one, fluid movement Dettlaff slid your slip off your body and your body into the bath.

“A _h!”_ you gasped, hitting the water before giggling. “Dettlaff!” 

Wiping your lids, you opened your eyes to two white, strong legs being liberated from under red fabric as a muscled, shirtless, and dangerously playful Dettlaff hopped backwards on one foot trying to remove the bottoms of his long underwear. 

You grabbed the edge of the tub, jumped out and, as Dettlaff’s eyes and mouth went wide with surprise, ran at him, pushing his unsteady shoulders backwards and tackling him onto the bed. He hit the mattress laughing.

“Maina!” Dettlaff’s baritone shook with mirth, his eyes closed tight before he reopened them and looked at you, biting his lower lip. 

“Weren’t expecting _that_ , were you?” you snorted at yourself, realizing you’d hardly gotten the bed wet with Dettlaff’s massive, statuesque body between you and the sheets. You rested your hands on his chest, his round shoulders just calming down from bobbing.

You looked up to see his eyes go wide, then squinty as he shook his head.

“No,” he bit his lower lip and held the sides of your torso. He brought his face closer to where you laid atop him and his voice went low to a whisper, “I _wasn’t.”_

His last words heated your nose, and you closed your eyes and searched for his large mouth, finding it in a moment and kissed him. You pushed for him to part his thin lips, cradling the back of his head and parting your own - introducing the moisture of your mouth to him and he responded. You felt the heat of his breath before his large tongue slid by yours and his lips worked with yours. 

A prickling was beginning between your legs, and you felt his hips start to gyrate beneath you before one of his hands slipped from your sides and suddenly there was no fabric between you and his large, hard cock. 

He cooed, and the tingling intensified. 

“Maina,” he whispered into your mouth, before he hoisted you up and slid himself down, underneath you, setting you on his mouth - those light, steely grey eyes observing you with a crazed passion. 

The long fingers of his large hand wrapped around your thighs _tightly_ where you perched atop him and, a crooked smile appearing on his face once more, he pushed the tip of his tongue through your folds and gently started to play with your clitoris there. 

You sucked in air at the initial feeling of it, then as Dettlaff began running the length of your clitoris again and again, you _tightened,_ suddenly unsteady on your throne. His grip strengthened, forcing you to stay put where you squirmed, and you threw your head back. When you returned to him, his gaze was still piercing, his lips wrapped around your labia and he _sucked_ , his tongue still running the length of your clit. 

“Dear g-ahh,” you moaned, trying to find a place to grip his large muscles as he eyed you. You shut your eyes, beginning to roll your hips on Dettlaff’s face, and you felt him doing the same with his hips in his excitement. The feeling of his lips sucking on you, his tongue against you as he ate you out, his fangs brushing you ever so slightly was becoming too much and your body shook. His gaze intense, and as his eyes became more excited, nostrils flaring, your orgasm over took you and you closed your eyes, coming, grasping his black hair as he growled into you.

“Dettlaff,” you moaned, and he groaned back into your body until finally you were finished.

“Dett _laff-”_ he plucked you off of his face and grabbed your head, trying to bring you to kiss him, but you slapped his hand away, going to his groin, instead. 

“Maina,” his voice was throaty and husky, and you heard him swallow as you licked your lips, staring at his huge hard on. You took it in your hand, and started making circles with your wrist. When you looked up at him, saw his mouth open, and his eyes fluttered before he shut them with his brow, bucking slightly. His hands gripped the bedsheets and he let his head fall back to the mattress.

“Want me to suck your cock, Dettlaff?”

You saw his handsome jaw nod against his thick, muscular neck, and you started to rotate your wrist faster - the soft, tender skin of his shaft enticing. You wanted it in you, but for now…

You brought his head closer and, bringing your mouth to it, asked again, letting the heat from your words trickle onto his hard, eager dick, “was that a yes, honey?”

Dettlaff’s chest expanded as he sucked in air and made a pitchy grunt, and you felt your insides constrict at it. Then he answered. 

“Y-yes,” his voice was irresistibly unsteady. 

You massaged him faster, and felt his precum on your hand, but couldn’t look away from the large, writhing vampire bound to your whimsy. Dettlaff’s chest was expanding more and more rapidly, and you started touching yourself to it. Looking down, you noticed how incredible his balls looked, and lowered your head further, gently taking one in your mouth. 

“M-Ma _ina,”_ Dettlaff moaned louder, his body was beginning to shake, and your eyes went wide. You let his balls go with a light pop before taking your tongue and running it up his long, thick shaft.

“Are you going to transform for me?” you asked as Dettlaff’s body rippled, the veins of his hands and forearms prominent where he clutched the sheets. You were suddenly very, _very_ aroused again as Dettlaff’s body began to quake as it changed, and his cock began growing even further still - his head becoming more bulbous and you found yourself squirming. 

“Grrahh,” Dettlaff’s moan was wild, desperate, and his claws were beginning to dig _into the mattress_ when you licked your lips again, looking up at the now crazed looking vampire, and started sucking on him. 

Dettlaff immediately bucked what he could fit of himself into you and you gagged, a spurt of hot liquid coating your throat. He pulled back, and you saw his piercing eyes fixated on you as he bucked again. 

The back of your neck began prickling, and one of Dettlaff’s massive palms went to the back of your head, pushing you down his cock as he fucked your face. You heard a _clinking_ noise and out of the corner of your watering eye you saw another clawed hand setting down two glasses of something. 

You choked on Dettlaff’s massive head _,_ and more hot liquid shot from it’s slit down your throat when suddenly your hips were being grabbed, and the head of another monstrous head was aligning with your opening, nudging into your folds as Dettlaff’s cock pushed down your throat. 

Regis hissed, and bucked forward, you felt the head of his dick part your lips and his big _,_ long dick filled you as the vampire smacked you with his base, sending Dettlaff’s massive cock further back down your throat. 

“Regis,” you choked, and his batlike face was next to yours, licking your neck with urgency. He pulled your face off Dettlaff’s dick and kissed your mouth, before suddenly he was pushed from you by Dettlaff, who pulled you closer so that his face inches from yours, and started nudging you with it as he bucked his cock into your cunt, his girth greater and harder to take, his face crazed, and you both squealed - his wilder and droning yours out completely. He bucked into you again. 

Then Regis was at your back, his cock nestled between your ass cheeks and, bending over you, pushed. 

“F _uck,”_ you squealed as you simultaneously took them. Dettlaff was oozing precum into your pussy already and as Regis thrust crazily into your ass you felt wet warmth there, too, and wondered if they just _ooze seed_ when in heat. You constricted, and at the pressure of them both inside of you, taking you, started to touch yourself. Then Dettlaff’s eyes pierced your own, his cock left you and entered again, smacking the back of your pussy, his massive balls smacking your lips, over and over as Regis pounded deep inside your ass - their differing rhythms causing you to squeal out of your mind whenever they aligned and you were being filled at the same time. Then Dettlaff groaned and pulled Regis into you as he started peaking. The cum shooting into you from his cock felt never ending as he writhed inside you, causing Regis to screech, making noises of his own as his arms went around your front and he thrust _harder._ Pulling you up tight against his front, licking your face as he started to cum, and didn’t stop the entirety of his orgasm. The stimulation of them both inside you, warm, and new, sent you over the edge and you started to lose yourself again, your hand and your hips shaking, the last of their thick cocks bucking, twitching inside of you, sent you screaming, lost, until you came down to the two of them having steadied, and relaxed, sleepily.

But they didn’t transform back.

Regis let his weight push you against Dettlaff, and the two of them looked to be in such a daze that you startled. 

“Dettlaff?” you asked, and his eyes went to you going alert, then relaxing. He pulled you to his person protectively. Your brow furrowed against his upper chest, trying to turn your head against the pressure of Dettlaff’s barring forearm to see the father of your next child. “Regis?” 

The older vampire had his arms wrapped around your middle in a manner that _also_ seemed protective. 

You were stuck between a rock and a limp place.

“Hey!” you yelled, and Dettlaff, at least, responded. You pushed, and when Dettlaff saw your efforts, helped. Finally you got Regis off of you - and were surprised at how quick he was to roll onto the bed. Then, you grabbed the hormone suppressant and, cradling Dettlaff’s massive, happy and dazed head, gave it to him.

“What kind of weird,” you wondered aloud as you emptied the glass’s contents into your mate’s fanged mouth, “backwards vampire...what have you... _is_ this?” 

Regis looked like he was out cold, and was already transforming back into his human form. You paused setting the glass back on the nightstand at how peaceful it was to see him transform in his sleep. It reminded you of Dacreval, a little. It was somehow _incredibly_ endearing.

You weren’t sure if it was weird that your heart was absolutely on _fire_ from what you felt for these two right now. When you looked back to Dettlaff, he was in his most human form again and looking alarmed. 

“Maina,” a large hand went to your face, then he looked at Regis, then back to you, “are you okay?”

Dettlaff swallowed, and his eyes made it look like he could break out into tears.

“Oh no! No, no, I’m fine!” you assured him a little too loudly, putting _your_ much smaller hands on _his_ much larger face, trying to soothe him.

You blushed, and had to incline your head. It felt weird, them not necessarily being in control and you wondered…

“You know what just happened, right?” you asked looking up under your brow at Dettlaff’s concerned and caring - severe and somehow soft, expression. He closed his eyes, jaw going tight, and nodded. 

It looked like he was biting his lower lip, and he brought you up close onto him, holding you to his chest. You took the opportunity to eye Regis again, who looked like he was getting the best sleep of his life. He even had his knees tucked to his chest. 

“I’m so sorry,” Dettlaff whispered into your hair and your blush deepened. 

“For what?” your voice was creaky and hollow, “I don’t regret it...do you?”

Dettlaff’s hold on you relaxed so that you could lift your head from his muscled chest and look at him. His steely grey eyes pierced you from a _very_ tense forehead. He searched your countenance for a few moments before asking in an unbelieving, if not even _flat_ voice, “Are you serious?”

You shrugged, smiling, “I mean as long as you two both understand what _consent_ is when that happens?”

Dettlaff recoiled from the question, shaking what you thought were probably disturbing and unwanted thoughts from his head. Then his large hands were on your sides, sliding up your back to your shoulders, and he brought you close to him again. When you gazed up beyond his jaw at his face, he looked pensive, so you gave him some time.

“I think, Maina,” he began sooner than you expected, his voice hesitant but full of conviction, then suddenly he emitted a low chuckle, surprising you. 

Your brows furrowed.

“What?” you looked up at him and saw him biting his lower lip, shaking his head. 

“I think other than wanting to protect you, that also listening and doing as you say is another symptom of our…” his nostrils flared, and he closed his eyes, “condition.”

“Ohhhh,” you sucked your own smiling lower lip between your teeth, biting it in place, “Really?”

“I hope you don’t take advantage of this information.”

Your eyes went wide and your jaw slacked. He looked dead serious, and blushing.

“Um,” Suddenly you were very close to giggling. OK, you were _starting_ to giggle, “I see.” 

Dettlaff’s steely grey eyes shot open and found you in a split second, looking at you suspiciously. Then a thought occurred to you and your giggling stopped. 

His large arms wrapped around you tighter, “Maina?”

“I don’t know that either of you would listen to me when you’re like that _during sex,_ though.” 

Dettlaff’s eyes resumed their normal size and it looked like he was earnestly considering it, before he shook his head again. 

“No,” he bellowed out a low sigh, biting his lower lip again. _Was he concealing a smile of his own?_ “No, Maina, I think we will do what you tell us, even _especially_ during that time.” 

“Oh,” you replied, your voice catching in the middle of the vowel and you started to cough. You tried to stop but now you were in a fit, and Dettlaff looked alarmed, again.

No. No, he looked _amused._

A large hand lightly patted your back in an attempt to help, and you pushed your face into his chest, both of which were on fire from the situation. You peered at Regis lying there next the two of you, and were relieved that he was still in his bliss. Then your eye caught the tub. 

“Um,” you started, nodding to the bath, “can I have this room to myself, for a moment?”

Dettlaff nuzzled his nose against yours and nodded _yes_ against your face, apparently realizing that it made more sense to mark you with his scent _after_ you cleaned up, because he gingerly picked you up and set you down next to him. 

Then he grabbed Regis’ dose of hormone suppressant and, holding it in his teeth, lifted the older sleeping vampire in the gentlest way possible and held him to his torso, asked if you needed anything else and quietly walked out of the room.

For a little bit you just sat on the bed and looked at the bathtub, wondering where in your PsychoKinetics textbook you’d learn how to deal with excessive vampire semen. 

-

After cleaning up and feeling pretty good about yourself for having enough control over your powers to pour the tub water out yourself, you followed Dettlaff’s energy to the study. A fire was going and to your surprise Regis was awake, hanging your armor on a clothesline down the steps in the mouth of the cave. Dettlaff sat relaxed on the couch, reading your textbook by the light of an oil lamp, hands and table covered in dried paint. He smiled as you walked in.

When you reached him you saw that he’d painted another portrait of Dacreval, this time in his human form. Standing over the table, you peered down at it. 

“This one is _particularly_ good,” you praised, and Dettlaff’s answer was a hand massaging the back of your thigh. You looked at him and smiled. Dettlaff smiled and nodded back. “But his ears are a little too big. Maybe you were thinking of your own…”

His hand left the back of your thigh and smacked your ass. Then he growled, playfully.

“Are you aware that I can sense the two of you flirting?” Regis called from the opposite end of the study. He sounded almost _needy_ and it caused you to snort. Dettlaff was showing off a row of sharp teeth to you before you pulled the small wool blanket off the armrest of the lounge and wrapped it around you.

“I’ll be needing that book back shortly, mister Eretein,” you warned the large, dark haired vampire as you started walking down the steps to where Regis was. 

The back of his neck was warmly lit and alluring, and as you approached, the skin of it began to prickle into goosebumps. 

“Do I make the back of your neck tingle?” you asked, wrapping your arms around his midsection when you reached him from behind. He chuckled. 

“My lord, Maina,” he replied, shaking his head so that the ends of his hairs were tickling your nose, “you do more far more than that to me.” 

You dug your nose into his soft skin and sighed at the delicate scent of it. He cleared his throat at your touch.

“And how is Miss Maina feeling?” he asked, pinning your gloves up the line - right where the draft came through the cave opening - and you picked up the slightest traces of indignity from the question. 

“ _I’m_ doing really well,” you kissed his neck, and your voice dropped to a whisper as you held the older vampire closer to you, “how are _you_ ,” you kissed him again, “Regis?”

Regis pivoted on his heel quickly and you stepped backwards just as quickly, your foot slipping in a divot and before you knew what had happened, two large hands were wrapped around your upper arms. 

His dark eyes looked concerned, “I apologize.”

“It’s okay, Regis,” you replied. 

“No I,” he was breathing heavily now, and shook his head, before he brought your body to his and held you, “I don’t know what I was thinking moving that fast.”

“It’s a difficult time for you,” you offered, and stroked the back of his head until he nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your shoulder, “for earlier...I,” 

“Shhh,” you cooed, “I love you, and enjoyed it and...and you’re doing great.” 

His chest pushed against you. 

“Thank you,” his voice was a whisper.

“Not to mention your baking has been every pregnant person’s _dream,”_ you added, smiling, and he chortled where you held him to you.

“It is rather good, isn’t it?” he perked up, and you released him. Immediately, he went back to hanging your armor and what looked to be a few pieces of auxiliary clothing, talking over his shoulder, “I’ve tested a new sourdough starter that I _do_ believe you’ll enjoy with that atrocious egg concoction you make in the mornings now.” 

Your mouth fell open, “it’s not _atrocious_.”

“It is atrocious,” Dettlaff called from behind the back of the lounge, then added a quick, “my treasure.”

Regis pulled out your breeches, “I assure you, dear, anything that has pickled fish, runny yolks _and_ _strawberry jam_ is a far cry from a delicacy.” 

You walked over and in front of the laundering vampire and grabbed a pair of Regis’ pants. 

“Well, that means a lot coming from the guy who owns what are probably the oldest, most tattered pair of tights known to man,” you replied, and they probably were, now that you observed them properly. You brought them closer to your face, awestruck, before Regis snatched them from you, kissing you on the lips as you did. 

“I’m glad,” he said smugly and you barked out a laugh, digging out a bundle of skirts before erecting yourself and grabbing a clip for them.

“Maina,” Regis’ voice came from below you, “what is this?”

You pushed aside the now pinned skirts on the line to see Regis was slowly standing, observing something in his hand. 

“What’s what?” you asked, patting the skirts so that they’d dry, just maybe, just _for once,_ without several thousand wrinkles in them. 

“A clasp or buckle of some sort,” his voice was perplexed, and you reached out and brought his hand closer, yanking the rest of him along with it. 

Regis looked up at you flatly and you ignored it. 

“Oh,” you went back to the skirts, “the buckle. Yeah, I found it in Krael’ef today _moments_ before I almost landed face first onto a corp-”

You glanced at Regis’ quizzical face from the corner of your eye.

“Er, _carp_ ,” you finished. 

He folded his arms. 

“You almost fell onto a corpse?” His jaw was working itself sideways. 

_Do all vampires know how to seemingly unhinge their mandibles when upset?_

“What?” you heard Dettlaff’s voice a split second before you felt his energy grow an edge to it, and sighed. 

“Yes, we found a corpse,” you confessed, then went back to the basket of damp, clean linens, trying to ignore the second uneasy vampire approaching, “but creepy things happen in Krael’ef all the time. At least that’s what Yennefer…”

_Maybe don’t mention Yennefer._

“ _Yennefer?”_ Regis groaned. “Should you really believe what is safe and what isn’t based on...”

The older vampire held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and you stepped closer to him, holding his face on both sides. 

“Regis,” you started sternly and saw that Dettlaff was retreating to his lounge once more. You looked back to the older vampire and decided to test out Dettlaff’s sing-songy tactic, “ _Re-_ gis _.”_

He pursed his lips and nodded, opening his eyes and looking at you. 

“I despise it when he does that,” he stated, blinking slowly.

“I’ll be fine in Krael’ef, okay?” you offered, and he nodded, again. 

“I’m fully aware,” he sighed, your hands on his face in his own and looking you in the eye, softly, “pasa colve ap scini vintna?”

_Maybe I can teach you more vampiric?_

You closed your eyes and smiled, nodding, “Svi.”

_Yes._

“Yeva!” Dettlaff’s voice carried in from where he laid on the couch, “konis mani avk thi… av ces molo peis. Vey- _ya._ ”

_Good! I’m staying with you for it… some of these are done poorly. Hoh-ohh._

“Hey!” you started running up the stairs, and saw that Dettlaff was looking at your translations. “I wasn’t,” you snatched it from him, “finished with those.” 

He rumbled lowly in a sort of laugh, and pulled you down to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW’s: graphic depictions of M/F vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex, sex with monsters, DP. There’s also a corpse somewhere in this chapter. Fleeting jealousy. I think that’s it?


	6. Beauclair Part I: Misty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maina spends the morning with Regis, Dettlaff, and Dacre before hopping on Mers and setting off in a stormy Toussaint towards Beauclair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More relaxed work week and was able to write! :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!!

You woke up to the smell of cedarwood, and felt the lulling of a large body beneath you. Dettlaff was stroking the top of your head gently, his energy swirling and happy. Peering to the pillow beside the two of you, noticed the bed was missing a certain someone.

“Is Regis up and brewing, already?” you asked, yawning. 

“Mmm,” the returning humm vibrated the top of your head, and nearly convinced you into falling back asleep on him right then and there. You pushed out your arms and legs, yawning once more for good measure, and Dettlaff expanded beneath you as you passed the yawn onto him. “I am glad you’re awake.”

This time you propped yourself up to look at him and gently put _your_ nuzzle into the crease between his sturdy neck and shoulder, kissing him, before popping yourself up and out of bed altogether, causing Dettlaff to groan. “Where are you going, Maina?”

You giggled, shaking your head in reply. After tossing a simple white linen shirt on that you fished out from the dresser, you walked back over to the bed to try and find your favorite breeches that were somewhere around the floor of it. Dettlaff’s hand swung from somewhere above where you knelt and you dodged it. 

“Honey,” you reasoned, pushing his hand to the side, “it looks like we slept in.”

“Mmm,” he hummed again, his hand finding your shoulder and petting it, “I’ve been awake, my treasure. _You’ve_ been sleeping.” 

You rolled your eyes, swatting his large hand away again from where he was prodding at you flirtatiously, the look in his eyes becoming more serious, though, when he realized you were actually _not_ coming back to bed. He rolled over onto his stomach, his back muscles and handsome backside showing to the world and you inhaled, putting your breeches on, trying to not feel embarrassed about your own body in front of him although it’d been over a year and _one child_ , now, that you’d been together. He groaned into the pillow, grumbling, before finally sitting up and you couldn’t help but snort at him. 

“Have I ever told you how handsome your hair is in the morning?” you chided, playfully, and Dettlaff’s eyes creased at the corners before he blushed and looked away. 

“Oh…”

“What?!” you felt yourself stammer, but it was short lived before you started having to stifle your desire to laugh. “No, Dettlaff. No, no, no. You look fine. You look really, really cute.” 

You jumped on the bed, putting your legs to either side of him and he fell backwards looking up at you through one scrunched eye, “really?”

His energy prickled, cooling, and a smile spread across your face as you dipped your head down close to his lips and kissed him, “absolutely.”

You woke Dacreval and took him out to feed Mers with you before heading back to the kitchen. Dacreval was in a less chatty mood today, and were glad that, on the way back to the crypt, he’d transformed into a bat, again. It’d been the first time in several days since he had, and you were beginning to worry a little. That being said, you didn’t know what a normal baby to, erm, bat, time ratio was but...still, you had begun to worry a little about it. When you reached the crow building a gust of wind rolled through the forest and down the path from west and you shivered. It was overcast, and it felt damp out, like it was going to rain or thunderstorm. You peered down at Dacre, giving him a stern face, “Absolutely no flying during storms, sugarpie.” He lifted his little snout and chirped at you happily, and you smiled, “Good.”

Dettlaff and Regis were already sitting at the table when you strolled in to join them for breakfast, Dacre flying about your head and landing on your shoulder. Regis had clearly risen early from the amount he’d accomplished in the kitchen alone by this hour, and appeared well kept as always - his facial hair looked freshly shaven, his shirt buttoned to the neck completely, save for two at the collar. Dettlaff, however, still had hair that was a mess, he was still shirtless, and, well, he looked the way he always did when he reluctantly rolled out of bed after you...and you did mean _after_ you.

Earnestly, aside from moodiness (and to be fair, Regis was thus far, the far worse offender in that category...and you were keeping your fingers crossed _tightly_ that that would remain true for the duration of it), the defining trait of Dettlaff during this pregnancy would have to be his proclivity to try to keep you held hostage in bed with him all morning.

As you approached the breakfast nook, he lifted his large head from your book and growled, playfully, making you blush. His energy bloomed and frazzled as you did, and you settled under his arm while Regis scribbled something in the new journal you’d given him before he had left to gather ingredients earlier this year. 

“Good morning Regis,” you greeted warmly, wanting to break his concentration, and his head shot up and winked, smiling, before looking back at your notes. 

“The atrocity is ready for your consumption, dear,” he nodded to the counter - to eggs and fish - and you were there in a flash, showering him in thanks all the while. You felt Dacre leap with a squeak from your shoulder as you opened the lid of the cast iron skillet and forked some onto your plate. You noticed there weren't any fruit preserves.

“Where’s the jam?” you asked, stuffing the hunk of sourdough in your fool-hardy mouth and turning around to the table. 

Regis answered by lifting a bowl of strawberry jam, still scribbling. Dettlaff closed your book, which you noticed he hadn’t truly been reading anyway. His light grey eyes were fixed on you, Dacreval climbing around his clavicle. His lip started to curl ever so slightly as you walked back to the table.

“Thanks,” you replied, grabbing the jam and sitting down across from Regis, kitty corner to Dettlaff, who was now biting off a chunk of a different bread loaf, still staring at you. You smiled, wishing you could maybe check your _own_ hair. Then, you nodded to your book. 

“Wanna help me practice, today?” you asked your larger mate, who was seemingly still somewhere in the clouds with you, before you shoveled the first spoonful into your mouth. 

“Maina,” the tone in Regis voice was not your favorite, “we’re going to Beauclair today, remember?”

You felt your face scrunch up, “for what?”

“To get our mail,” he answered _too_ quickly.

Across the table, Regis was avoiding looking at you, and your forkful slowed on it’s path to your mouth as you eyed him with scrutiny, then you looked down at your eggs and got excited. You’d been pushing him about obtaining some quails for quail eggs lately, and you knew the market would have some...maybe he was trying to surprise you?

“And?” you pushed. Dettlaff was looking back and forth between the two of you, now, holding his large hand up, palm facing the ceiling, where Dacreval was playing with a strawberry seed. 

“...and we have a fitting today,” Regis finally answered. 

“Ugh!” you tossed down your fork. That was _not_ what you’d wanted to hear. “A _fitting?”_

“Yes, _naturally._ ”

“Aren’t you not supposed to see me in my dress?”

“Well, I’d prefer you _actually have a dress at all_ when the occasion comes,” he looked up at you, cocking his head to the side, his eyes slightly widened, his brows slightly lifted, and his lips pursed, half grinning. He _knew_ you knew he was right...and he was. 

“Fine,” you replied, scooping another bite of eggs into your mouth as Regis went back to writing, a smile still on his lips as his watchful eyes lingered _just above_ where he had been looking before, as if expecting something else from you. There was no mistaking to you that Regis looked amused.

A trickle of hope was eeping back in about the quails.

“And?” you pushed.

He looked up at you and cocked his head. It was incredibly cute.

“Aaand?” you raised your brows, and Regis’ eyes widened in understanding.

“Oh _dear_ ,” he cupped his hand around his chin and mouth as he shook his head, “you can’t _possibly_ be serious, Maina?”

“What?!” you ask, indignantly.

“Yes,” Dettlaff’s low voice cut in, “what?”

“Maina’s resolute on purchasing quails,” Regis answered, waving his hand slightly, dipping a brow, “she prefers them to chickens.”

“What’s wrong with _that?”_ You huffed.

“Yes,” Dettlaff followed, looking at you and nodding before turning to Regis, completely genuine, “what is wrong with this?”

“Maina, you only want the eggs because to you they’re...”

_The eggs!_

“Oh my goodness, Dettlaff,” you turned to the dark haired vampire, taking his hands in yours. Dettlaff’s eyes widened and constricted at the same time, the corners of his lip curling again, immediately mimicking your excitement as his gaze danced across your face, “you _have_ to see these eggs…” you felt your hands starting to shake where you held his, and Dettlaff’s brows drew together, still smiling, but obviously perplexed, “they’re so tiny and _cute!”_

“...tiny and cute.” Regis threw up his hand, flipping to the next page of his journal.

Dettlaff had his lips bit between his teeth, smiling, with his eyebrows raised as he nodded. He looked dangerously close to flat out _laughing_ or...you actually couldn’t exactly place his expression.

“What is wrong with this, Regis?” he asked not looking at Regis, pulling you in closer, and you jumped when his mouth wrapped around your neck and his sharp teeth _bit_ you, his hands steadying you calmingly.

“It doesn’t seem completely necessary,” the older vampire’s quill was making more and more noise, you thought, from the pressure he was applying, and his voice had an edge to it. Dettlaff’s breath heated where he was attached to you, his energy was absolutely _dancing_ , and you made a mental note to be more enthusiastic about breakfast more often. 

Then Dettlaff retracted his fangs, and after licking where he’d bitten, gave Regis a surprised look. You took another bite of your breakfast. “Maina used to live with chickens,” Dettlaff’s nostrils flared as he mused, turning to you, “maybe, you simply do not like their company, anymore.” 

“Mmm,” you waved your fork at Regis, looking at him as you nodded towards Dettlaff, “mmhm.”

Regis peered up at you, his brow twitching, “I wasn’t aware of that.” 

Dettlaff was petting his purring, furry baby with his claw, “perhaps you will have some interesting news in the mail, now that your name is changed.”

Regis tossed his quill an inch or two and crossed his arms, “I’m sorry, was this _recent?”_

“The process of legal name changing is absurd, Regis,” Dettlaff assured him, blushing. 

“Did you know about this?” the older vampire raised a brow at you accusingly, and coolly, and all you could do was shrug. 

His jaw flexed, and he nodded.

“So, Beauclair,” Dettlaff began, inclining his head and sitting back, “may I join?”

“No,” Regis shook his head.

“Why?” he asked, sounding hurt.

The surgeon-barber smacked the table, “because you’ll be distracting.”

Dettlaff’s eyes narrowed at his blood brother, confused, “to who?”

Regis’ eyes flickered to you, and you saw his throat tense as he quietly swallowed. 

“Have you both taken your, um,” you began.

“Yes,” Regis answered. 

Suddenly, you felt nauseous, and quickly got up to make your way to your bedroom where your constantly cleaned _bucket_ was living the past few days. You heard the two of them come to a clumsy stop in the doorway after you, before you heard Regis say, suddenly close behind you, “I have it under control, Dettlaff, _thank you.”_

You heard Dettlaff’s low voice start, “You have to hold it behind the-”

“I know damn well how to hold Maina’s hair back,” Regis barked. You looked up from the bucket, kneeling by it, as he closed the door behind him. Thunder from outside sounded, and you wondered if Regis was going to make the two of you go to Beauclair _now._ You threw up, and Regis knelt next to you, holding your hair back as your eyes started to water, but you were more angry than sad, or maybe what you were feeling was really just disappointment. 

You brought your head up, “that wasn’t very nice, Regis.”

A long, drawn out sigh came from behind you as Regis shifted the strands of your hair from one hand to the other. It tickled your neck and made you shiver. It was so _mean_ of him to be that way to Dettlaff. 

Regis didn’t reply, he just let you get sick and held your hair as the thunder rolled in.

After you finished being pregnant all over the place, you told Regis he should take another hormone suppressant since he was still insisting you go to Beauclair, and he let you know, to your disappointment in him, that he had to prepare more. You also informed him that you would be riding Mers to the city, because he desperately needed the exercise (made obvious by how utterly _cranky_ he was becoming), and as nice as being smoked around was, it really wasn’t fair to your horse. Regis looked like he was probably going to stalk you the entire way there after he finished brewing, with the uneasy expression on his face, and that was fine by you. You weren’t very happy with him at the moment and he could do whatever he liked, you supposed, but you also knew something was up for him to act that way to Dettlaff, and you’d try to figure that out sooner rather than later. Dettlaff had obviously been stressed by the transgressions that took place at breakfast, and after helping him settle down, with your encouragement, he went with Dacreval to find a nice balsa for carving. You hoped that that would occupy him well enough. It made your heart ache, feeling his energy and seeing the lost look in his eyes. _What could he do about it?_

You decided to wear your armor, your _leather_ armor - as it was still dark, stormy, and thundering out - to Beauclair because you thought, maybe, it would help the dressmaker choose a more fitting style for you. _Hopefully_ Regis had braced himself for the fact that you hadn’t necessarily stuck around to make certain that the tailor got your request in the first place and thus wouldn’t be too big of a deal. If you were going to be _completely_ honest with yourself, and you were going to be, you weren’t one hundred percent sure how you were all going to pay for these things. It’s not like the ceremony was going to be expensive, you were being wed atop a _hill,_ but the reception?

As Mers trotted you through a cloudy, misty Toussaint hillside to Beauclair, you considered the means. 

Dettlaff sold paintings and woodwork sometimes, sure. Generally he just threw the coin bag down on Regis’ desk in the study whenever he did, as if carrying the currency of men _himself_ were a burden, and since he didn’t usually boast about it, you weren’t exactly certain how often he was selling pieces. Dettlaff could create things _fast._ You recalled the innumerable paintings of Dacre that lined the drawers of and walls of the nursery. Not to mention the several hundred sketches of yourself alone you found in any given sketchbook of his. 

You coughed _loudly,_ clearing your throat at nothing and startling Mers as a ping of excitement ran through you. _Right._ _Yes, Maina, he’s very intense and he creates things very quickly._ That being said, his works were always of exquisite quality...but there was no way of knowing if Dettlaff demanded prices that reflected that, or if he more or less was fine with anything, so long as the transaction didn’t take very long.

Mers winnied, feeling contented, and you pat him on the neck before continuing. 

Regis, on the other hand, sauntered off or smoked out to the Francollarts, Flovive, or the Beauclair port once or _twice_ a _week_ , _tops_ , to care for any sick or at the very least, cut hair. Only _twice_ a _week..._ but he seemed to always have money on him, somehow. He must be a damn good surgeon or an even better barber. Your eyes go wide. 

“Do you think Regis is selling potions to the illegal market?” you asked Mers, and shook your head. In all honesty, you probably wouldn’t be surprised if he did at _some_ point in time. Your mind went back to the thought of him only working _twice a week._ Even _you_ helped Geralt out twice a week, and would continue to do so until you were deemed _too pregnant._

“Mers,” you wondered aloud to the black stallion, “Am I the hardest working entity in my household?” You bit your lip. “ _Crypt-hold?”_

Mers winnied.

“There’s _no way,”_ you snorted, shaking your head, “ _no way,_ these men have made it this far in their lives by living like this, right?” The vineyard around you didn’t answer.

“No, not exactly.”

But Regis did. 

“Gods,” you jumped in your saddle, and Regis’ large, clawed hand rested on your thigh as he easily walked next to you. 

“Though I wouldn’t entertain the notion you _labor_ more than Dettlaff or I, Maina. It _does_ take a bit of work to stay up medical standards, after all.” He eyed you significantly, seeming in a much better mood than when you left, and you smiled down at him through the mist. 

“Ah yes” you rolled your eyes, “I’m sure it gets more difficult with your advancing age, and all.” 

You fully expected Regis to snort, or chuckle, or give you a snide rebuke but, to your surprise, he chewed the inside of his cheek and looked tensed by the remark. 

“Regis?”

“ _Hm?_ Oh, yes. My age.” 

Your brows knit, and you had a desire to stop Mers and drop down to speak to him ground level, but stopped yourself from doing so instead, thinking that he might not respond to it. 

“Is there something wrong with it?” You asked, earnestly, “your age?” Then your heart sank, “Regis, you’re not going to die or anything? Vampires don’t die of old age, do they? I thought that was the whole thing, right? You live and just keep on living? Have I missed something? Is there a loophole?”

Your pulse was beginning to rise as the insipid thought of your loved ones actually being able to die crept in, and you felt a panic about whether or not you ever truly clarified this fully, but before your heart could _explode,_ Regis pulled you off Mers, who apparently had stopped walking without your permission nor awareness, and pulled you close to him. 

“Maina,” Regis said, his voice warm and soothing, “no, we do not die from old age.”

The vampire made a satisfied sighing noise when you exhaled, deflating in relief. 

“Goodness,” you sighed, chest rising and falling, you pulled him in closer by his leather vest, “you scared me.”

Regis was stiff and severe where his hands clutched your back and he whispered, “I fear that I don’t feel very crucial, at times.”

There was moisture in your eyes that wasn’t a moment ago, and you sniffled. “Regis,” you managed to get his name out on an inhale, and it sounded very sad when you said it, and he responded to the sound of your voice saying his name in such a way by shaking. You rubbed his back, “let’s get out of the road.” 

“No, I should say that I’m quite fine,” he released you, and ran a hand through his hair, looking up the path. “How about we first get to Beauclair, then we can warm you up with the inside of some pastry or meat pie shoppe, as I’m sure you won’t have it any other way.” 

He sounded okay, and it probably was a better idea to get you there and forcibly _into_ the tailor shop before you could flee. _Honestly Maina, how much more like Dettlaff could you sound right now?_ Regis helped you back onto Mers. When you looked down at him he was smiling up at you.

“Granted, these meat pies _will_ be purchased with the earnings made from my trades in the illegal market,” he raised a brow.

“Of _course,_ ” you rolled your eyes, smiling. As you started off the rest of the way towards Beauclair through the mist, Regis snaked his forearm between your ankle and the stirrup. You asked him about a bird, and it didn’t take long before he was indulging you about the peculiar evolution of Toussaint’s Kingfisher. You listened, picking up what information you could as you silently pinned raspberry tarts and lamb pot pie against each other.


	7. Beauclair Part II: Stormy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regis and Maina duck into The Clever Clogs tavern for lunch before heading to their fitting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy, y'all!
> 
> CWs at the end!

The soles of your copper toed boots were wet and squishy, and the butt of your pants was soaked through when you tied up Mers at the Temple Gate. _This should be interesting,_ you thought to yourself about your butt, and about walking around in wet pants the rest of the day. You hadn’t worn much under your armor, because you didn’t think you’d have to. The sky was still overcast, and getting darker. The air was humid enough that your hair was beginning to frizz something desperate. 

“Anything of interest occupying you, Maina?” Regis asked, scanning the grey streets of Lassommoir square. His long fingers slid between yours. 

“The weather,” you replied, following the older vampire. 

“It does look rather dreadful, doesn’t it?” he smiled, squeezing your hand. “So,” he began, and you noticed that every third or fourth person the two of you passed looked at him a little longer than you were comfortable with, “where _does_ Miss Maina want to eat?”

You squeezed his hand back, giving a man with a very messy mustache and floppy hat a dirty look for eyeing Regis for, what you thought was, a little _too_ long. 

“Anywhere,” you yanked his arm, pulling his body in closer as you walked. “How about there?”

You looked up at a wooden sign that featured a humanoid fox on it; the building had people sitting out drinking under the broken down veranda. Regis looked as if he were about to say something, but didn’t, and instead, led you up to the entrance and opened the door for you. Once inside, your eyes adjusted, and you started to remove the outer layer of your armor, folding it over your arm. When you finally looked up, you saw that it was a very dimly lit tavern more than anything else. There was a man with a pan flute in the corner whom you were fairly certain wasn’t getting paid, playing a decent rendition of ‘The Musty Scent of Fresh Pate’. _Yeah,_ you thought, _there’s no way he’s getting paid to play_ that _here._ It didn’t necessarily get you excited about the cuisine.

Regis’ hand settled on your waist and gently guided you up against his body, “maybe we should go elsewhere, my dear,” he quietly suggested in your ear. You looked up at his coal black eyes that scanned the room before they darted to yours.

“Here’s fine,” you replied, looking outside at the rain audibly hitting the multi diamond paned windows. “I wouldn’t want to go back in the street, right now.”

“I find myself mildly surprised by that,” Regis’ dark eyes softened in amusement, “nevertheless, then it is here we shall eat.” 

You looked at a poster on a far wall and felt Regis’ lips on the side of your face before he started to guide you towards the stairs by the waist. “Regis,” you began, trying to make out what was on the small, hanging piece of parchment. It looked like the portrait of a man, “Regis, do we know that person?”

“Yes, Maina?” Regis asked over his shoulder as he took the first of the stairs, having apparently gotten distracted by the pan flute player dedicating a song to Guillaume de Launfal, last year's tourney victor. 

“That poster,” you started walking towards it, taking Regis’ hand from your waist and pulling him out of the stairwell by it, “we _know_ him, right?”

It was difficult to see anything in the low light of the tavern, but his face was definitely familiar. As you passed the last of the round tables before the wall with Regis in tow, you slowed. He was young, with strawberry blonde hair and fine clothing...and he was smiling. You realized for the first time that there was text on the poster, and it read:

Manquant 

_Missing_

Auguste Dupont

vu pour la dernière fois dans les jardins du palais 

_last seen in the palace gardens_

It felt like a small, hard, round thing was lodged in your throat. You’d certainly seen his face before, just not when he was alive. 

“That’s him,” it came out a whisper in the loud beer hall, “that’s whose body we found.” You felt Regis’ grip on your hand tighten, before he switched the hand he was holding yours with and used the other to bring you close, and ushered you up to the second story. 

The second story was more dimly lit than the first, or the sky was simply growing darker by the minute. Thankfully, an aproned man was building a fire in the hearth, though it cast eerie shadows on every patron’s face, and it also didn’t help prevent you from undershooting the distance from the table’s bench and your ass as you fell onto it with an ‘ _oomf’._ Regis spared you a reverent glance, placed his fully recovered vest around you, and went to get your orders. The weight of his vest was comforting, and the heat from the fire, you hoped, would somehow fix the marshy predicament of your boots. 

You scooted closer to the multi paned window. Lassommoir square was becoming more difficult to see as the outdoors darkened, darkening to the point where the light from inside was reflecting back at you, and soon you were staring at yourself. You wrapped Regis’ vest around you tighter, and found yourself getting lost in the dancing light of the fire. A prickling at the back of your neck eventually caused you to break concentration with the flames in the hearth a second before Regis placed two small glasses on the table in front of you. 

He placed a bowl of brown stew in front of you as well, and another in front of himself, then swept his arms beneath the long hem of his shirt and sat, fingers pitched against each other as he leaned on and stared _at_ the table. “So,” he rubbed the place between his eyebrows with his forefingers before closing his eyes, “your corpse has a name, and he was from Beauclair.”

The warm brown liquid in your bowl stared back at you. This conversation wasn’t doing wonders for your appetite, either. “Yes.”

Regis was using his large palm to rub down his now tired face, before he let it fall to the table and looked you in the eyes, searching. 

“Maina, I’d be remiss were I to…” he pursed his lips, “ _gloss_ over the fact that you decidedly omitted the _fresh_ state of the corpse in your description of it to me?”

You looked down at your stew, guiltily.

“And by _omitted,_ I do mean that you made it sound as if it were a skeleton,” Regis continued, and you saw out of the corner of your eye that he was stirring the contents of his bowl but not touching it, either. 

You reached for his hand, but he retracted it. Looking up, you saw that he was staring at the table yet. “Regis, it _was_ kind of skeleton-y.”

That was a lie, but a _fresh_ corpse just seemed more dangerous and worrisome for him.

“Then I would also be remiss to neglect that decomposition of a human corpse takes several weeks to several years,” his coal black eyes were suddenly engulfing your vision, and he continued. “Whereas we've found humans tend to abandon searching for their missing after one season,”

“How do you know this?” you asked, quizzically.

“I’m a- you know what I am, Maina, now don’t interrupt,” Regis replied, sitting back and testing out the first bit of stew. He raised his brows at his spoon, and gestured for you to try yours as he continued. “One season,” you frowned at that time frame, and suddenly he was holding _your_ hand to comfort you. “Meaning the soil of Toussaint and by extension, Krael’ef, would have to be well-nigh anoxic for the body to skeletonize that quickly.”

You sucked in air, “well, it definite-”

“But _you_ my dear,” Regis released your hand, pushed his bowl over and placed his elbows back on the table, “found this body in the _damp_ cave of a _temperate_ vineyard with neutral soil in Krael’ef - which unless I am mistaken, and we are both fully aware that I am not, indicates a decreased number of insects.”

Regis rested his cheek on his palm and shook his head at you.

“Yes, _but,_ ” you started, raising a finger that froze in the air, not knowing where you were going with it. But Regis went with it for you. 

“ _Oh?_ ” He pursed his lips, “Any counterpoint, my dear Maina, would have been more efficacious had you _not_ first identified him by a depiction of his _face_ . If I remember correctly, the finer details of human physiognomy aren’t generally discernible by skeletal remains.” He raised a brow, “It may be the lack of _skin_ that does it.”

You deflated, “right.”

“You didn’t have to lie to me, Maina. Nor should I have to explain to you how unlikely a thing is for you to fess to... _softening_ certain information, for me, while I deal with,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “ _my_ species’ version of fatherhood.” Regis’ brow tensed, then he sucked a lip between his teeth and let it _pop_ free before pursing his mouth altogether, “I would have,”

“You would have _what,_ Regis?” you asked flatly, and the line of his mouth went narrower. 

“I would have tried to,” he ran the nail of his thumb down his side burn to his jaw and scratched it, “fuck.” He put his face in his hand, his other went to hold yours, “I would have _tried to be reasonable.”_

It came out muffled, and you chuckled. 

“Don’t,” you heard him say behind his large hand before turning it sideways so that he only rested his chin on it, and you were happy to see that he was smiling, and that his deep, dark eyes were glistening and reflecting, _twinkling_ as they took you in in the low light of the dining room. “How about we try our best to be honest moving forward, and _open,_ even if it may seem unpleasant or too much for the other?” The top of his head dipped once, “Too much for me?”

You felt like you were tearing up, maybe, as you nodded an emphatic _yes_ back to him, “yes, Regis,” you replied, and he blinked at the sound of his name on your lips, “I’d like that.”

“Good,” he replied, and you took another bite of stew at his ushering, his gaze getting heady and heavy as he observed you. As he went on, his nostrils flared dramatically, “because I do enjoy the sound of the proposal, be it my own. First pregnancies _are_ a learning experience for both partners, after all.”

A lump of what you were certain was a root vegetable caught for a moment on it’s way down and you coughed into the crease of your elbow.

“Oh _my_ ,” Regis’ eyes widened playfully, his lip curling, “learning how to _eat_ , are we?”

“I’m sorry,” you coughed, “did you say _first_ pregnancy?”

The surgeon barber’s mouth opened with a clicking of his tongue and he went to say something, but shut his mouth, his eyes dancing on the surface of the table before you, then to you, then back to the table. Finally he asked, “Am I getting ahead of myself?”

You dabbed the sides of your mouth, and cleared your throat of...it _had_ to have been carrot. Regis was clearly biting the inside of his lip, a corner of which was pulled back tautly in a look of complete apprehension. You smiled, turning his hand over in yours, feeling the leather of his fingerless gloves and wishing he didn’t always feel the need to wear them in public. You looked down at them, then - his hands, his very nearly clawed hands. It was true, after all, he and Dettlaff’s nails were _much_ thicker than any human’s, and there was no way you would be able to tend to them in the same manner you would your own. They were claws, and he and Dettlaff were smart to cover their hands up as much as they practically could, of course. You thought about all of the looks he’d received today alone, even. Even now, sitting in the dark dining hall up against the stormy window he attracted unwanted gazes and too long stares. His complexion was grayer than a human’s...it was paler than Dettlaff’s, even. Paler by quite a bit. You inhaled his overly herbal scent and it suddenly made you very sad at how such a beautiful thing should have to hide itself.

“Mi une am,” you whispered to him, eyes becoming wet, and his fingers tightened around yours; your voice dropped, “ap Dettla-”

“Not here, Maina,” Regis replied just as quietly, stroking your wrist with his thumb. 

“Then where?” you asked, wondering if you couldn’t speak vampiric in a dimly lit tavern, where _was_ the right place for it? The look on Regis’ face was not a comfort.

“I used to wonder that quite often, myself,” he blinked, looking at the window, and you realized that neither of you had really been talking about the vampiric language just then. Not really. 

“I’m sorry you have to hide, Regis,” you felt like you were going to cry. 

“My dear Maina,” the vampire’s voice was reassuring, “I’ve had time to...familiarize myself with the idea well enough. Enough time to come to terms with what is necessary- to find my resolve as I have arrived at the conclusion that resolve _is_ the _correct_ conclusion to have arrived at,” he broke his gaze from the window, “and _that_ has taken years.” 

Again Regis gestured for you to keep eating. He was right about that, too, and you took another bite before asking, “are _you_ going to eat?”

He sighed, and, pushing his bowl back in front of him while giving you a sharp eye, took another bite. Then he rubbed his chin, “I _do_ believe you were inferring something of our strapping young Dettlaff, however?”

You nodded, “yeah,” speaking through a mouthful before swallowing. Regis took another bite, brows raised in expectation and you continued. “I was going to say, in regards to what you said earlier, that I think Dettlaff might actually...erm, well, I think _he_ wants to have more children.”

“Do you _think_ so?” Regis chided, rolling his eyes. “As far as Dettlaff is concerned, I can be very persuasive,” he stroked your hand with his finger, and you thought that you’d very much like to witness him practice this _persuasive_ side of his, “though I do understand your sentiment. In the end, however, what Dettlaff or I want matters little in comparison to what _you_ want.” He swallowed, looking almost insecure as he averted his gaze from yours. “I hope you like me, as a father to your child.” 

He was looking at your hand.

“Dettlaff is a,” Regis’ nostrils flared, “a difficult act to follow, if you will.” He winced, “Not that fatherhood or Dettlaff’s fatherhood is an act - no, Dettlaff’s fatherhood is a _miracle_ if anything, the way he’s changed for the better. It’s just that I,” his jaw clenched, and he swallowed again, his voice coming out hoarse, “that I’m still a bit jaded.”

You snorted into your stew, you couldn’t help it. Regis calling himself jaded was the biggest understatement ever made in all the animal kingdom. He looked up at you, eyes searching you, until he realized that you’d _laughed_ at him, and he shook his head slowly, letting out a little chuckle himself, “I suppose that _is_ a rather obvious declaration.”

You looked at him, “Regis?”

“Yes, my dear?” he peered up at you, smiling.

“You’re already a fantastic father,” you squeezed his hand, and quickly blinked back moisture in your eyes. 

He pushed his lips together, licking the back of his spoon with his tongue, testing the temperature of his neglected food, “what leads you to say this?”

You sniffled, and in a split second his dark eyes met yours, “are you alright, Maina?”

“Yes,” you bit your lip, “you’re a great partner, Regis.”

The vampire swallowed and nodded once, jaggedly. When you looked up at him, you saw that he still had a smile on his lips and that his eyes were far away in a manner you’d never really seen them be far away before. You’d gotten so used to seeing Regis’ past in his eyes that you weren’t prepared to ever see… _optimism. Is he actually daydreaming?_ After rolling his thumb over your palm, squinting at the deep slate sky through the window for the remainder of your lunch, he announced, “I suppose we can get ourselves to the tailor.”

“Ughhh,” you sighed and he rolled his eyes. 

“I can’t fathom what it is you despise so much about new clothing,” he shook his head. Then a corner of his mouth curled, “I wonder how _Dettlaff’s_ doublet is coming along.”

The vampire grinned, and you felt yourself grinning, too. He looked up and caught your eyes with his own, and you giggled. Regis put a hand over his mouth to hide his fangs, and nodded, “we can agree that this wedding is a good idea, if not for anything else, then at least for the chance of seeing Dettlaff dressed in a doublet, yes?”

You bit your lip, “ _Yes.”_

“Come,” the vampire hopped off the bench and grabbed your arm, pulling you from your seat as you started to grumble. “You know,” he brought you in close to his person as you started down the stairs, “I find it difficult to believe there isn’t _anything_ you’re looking forward to in the ceremony.”

You pat his arm, holding him closely back, “there are some things,” you shrugged. 

Regis’ brows pitched, “such as?”

His fingers were massaging your arm and it was distracting. 

“Such as…” your voice trailed off as you reached the front door. The windows weren’t incredibly persuasive on getting you to go outside, “wow, it’s stormy.”

Regis jerked his head back, “ _my,_ look at that.”

“Okay, Mr. Snippety,” you rolled your eyes as his hand pushed the door open and he walked you outside, wind howling. You raised your voice, “just because _you_ aren’t ever affected by the weather... _damn,_ ” you frowned, immediately losing your garnered heat. 

Regis leaned in close to your ear, “here.” You felt his arm slither around the small of your waist, and this time he led you to an alley. “Hold me.”

You appeared in _another_ alley, one that sheltered you from the wind and a good portion of the rain, one you recognized as being in north Hauteville, outside of the tailor’s shop near the Ducal Camerlengo. As the rest of your body materialized into Regis’ arms, you took a clumsy step and slipped further against him, causing the vampire himself to fallback against the wall of the building behind him. 

“ _Oomf_ ,” Regis exhaled as you fell against him and he started laughing, his chest dancing beneath where your cheek now rest on it. You felt his muzzle plant where your hair parted, his warm breath a welcome feeling, “one bit of rain,” he started mid chuckle, “and someone can’t stand on their feet.”

You felt his finger go beneath your chin, and he guided your face up to his smiling one, “However did you make it in the North?” Regis’ fangs peeked through his lips as they parted; he brought his head in close to your face, “We _must_ holiday there sometime.”

You swallowed, staring at his mouth as he finished saying the words, then looked up through the rain to see his eyes unfocusing, closing, and his lips found yours. You felt the hand that wasn’t engulfing your chin wrap around the base of your head as he held you firmly against his face. 

“Regis,” you gasped it, and a high pitched whimper escaped him. His mouth dancing with yours, his hands suddenly on both sides of your face as if he were afraid you would leave him if he didn’t hold you there, steady. 

“Maina,” he breathed. 

“Regis did you take your…” you inhaled against his parted lips, “suppressant?”

He pushed his mouth back to yours for one long moment before he tore himself away from you, out of breath. He rested his forehead against yours and kissed the side of your mouth by the cheek. “Yes,” he kissed it again, “I took the opportunity awaiting our order,” he kissed it again, mouth more slack but touch firmer, his breathing was picking up, and he swallowed, before your face was being held by his hands and Regis’ pushed his mouth against yours again as if he needed it to breathe. 

“Mm,” you sighed into him as he practically inhaled you, the gentle slope of his back suddenly under your palms as you grasped at him, without the obstacle of his leather vest shrouding him, his shirt wet and clinging to his unbelievably handsome, soft curving musculature, and his breath hitched, sucking in air.

“Ah,” Regis’ finally gasped, grabbing the back of your neck with his hand and putting his forehead to yours again, “I,” he breathed, “I daresay,” he licked his lips, still dangerously close to your own, his hot breath smelled more enticing than anything you’d eaten in weeks, “that _if we_ continue, I’ll have to fuck you whilst drinking from you, my dear, and it is essential that I escort you into that tailor shop,” his thumbs massaged your neck, “for the chance may never again arise.”

You let your hands slip from his increasingly inviting physique, and felt your own eyes flutter. 

“You’re exquisite,” Regis whispered, and you cleared your throat. 

“I know,” you replied, feigning your own self confidence and he chuckled, his arms wrapping around the small of your waist and _tightened,_ bringing you to him in one fell swoop. 

“I _mean_ it,” he whispered more forcefully, his nose flirting with the side of your own, and this time you felt your face ignite in a blush. The soft pads of his fingers ran over your rose stained cheeks, and his lips parted, not bothering to hide his sharp teeth as he absently unlocked and interlocked them each breath.

“That’s what I thought,” his eyes flickered about your face before he closed them, pinching his face around them, going still. “My _god_ , Maina. I may need you to slap me if I lose focus again.” 

You bit your lip, “Are you sure that would help?”

The vampire inhaled, pinching his brow down further and he shook his head, then for the first time you felt his hard-on brush against your leg, and immediately felt your breathing excite.

“Maina, please,” Regis tsked, and you shook your head.

“Right. Sorry.” 

You waited until he opened his eyes then, taking his hand in yours, you guided him towards the street before he could become overwhelmed by you again. 

His grip on your hand tightened as you stepped out onto the cobblestone. A blinding light streaked the sky and you jumped- this time Regis’ was holding you steady before you even slipped. You looked up at him and saw that his eyes had already been regarding you, because of course they had. 

_Crraaccckkk._

“ _Whoa_ shit,” your voice flew out louder than you intended it to have, and you fell deeper against Regis’ body. He closed his eyes, grinning. 

“Oh _dear,”_ you heard him say as he brought you to your feet, then another crack of thunder sounded and this time it was _Regis_ who slipped, and you bent at the hips, catching him by his torso before he hit the ground. Your eyes met Regis’ coal black ones as you held him in your arms, as if you were _dipping_ him, just above where he would have collided with the cobblestone. The abysmal depths of his eyes swallowed you.

“Is it storming in Krael’ef, too?” he asked, and your brows pushed against themselves.

“What do you mean?” you cocked your head, Regis was looking at you awestruck... and _lovestruck,_ and you noticed for the first time that he was very, _very_ light. Your eyes went wide.

Because you were filled with energy. 

You closed the doorway as quickly as you could and subsequently toppled onto Regis, who had fallen flat onto the road when Krael’ef’s magic was sucked from you. He picked himself up, then _you_ up, surprising you with the sudden reminder of how strong he _actually_ is, and started walking back for the alley with you in his arms.

“Perhaps it’s wiser I take us to check our mail,” Regis’ voice was quiet, throaty, and his breath warm on your temple, “should you begin _glowing_ again.”

He kissed you on the cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: kissing, swearing, talk of bodily decomposition but it isn't graphic, an erection under pants...I think that's about it.


	8. ART 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The art so far!! :) Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr is actually mackallackattack now, not mackallack so feel free to ignore any of those.


	9. Beauclair Part III: Good Vampire Behave Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maina can't remember what friends who don't Monster Damage Control together do for fun, Pierre is a nice dude, Regis has to take a Big Boy nap, Geralt hears a lot of cool new music that he hates except for one or two bangers but don't ask him about it, Orianna likes berry tarts of all things, Dacreval is somersault wunderkind, and Dettlaff is the best vampire partner dad ever even if he gets The Big Kill Urges. DETTLAAAAAFFF.
> 
> That's the worst summary ever and I apologize. 
> 
> Cheers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably going to work on some art tomorrow because I could use naked vampire ass stress relief hahaha.
> 
> Hope y'all are faring well and staying afloat! Thanks so much for everything!  
> Enjoy this chapter!

“I’m sorry, did you say _glowing?”_ you asked, Regis’ body materializing with yours.

“Yes, I most certainly did,” the vampire replied, setting you down on the cold marble floor of your estate’s living room before walking to the kitchen. You watched him walk off, then slumped out of his vest and onto one of the large couches, not bothering about dampening the upholstery.

“Like a candle?” you asked loudly, then thought of the sorceress, “Like _Yen?”_

“Like Yen,” he called back, his voice was traveling to the stairwell.

“Hey,” you rolled over on the couch, “where are you going?”

Cocking your head to the side, you waited for an answer that didn’t come. _Fine._

“ _Glowing_ ?” you wondered. _That_ certainly was an interesting development. You sat up to untie your boots then flopped back down, letting your head slack to the side to get a good look at the view.

It was a very nice view, moody as it was.

 _Why does he have to insist on living in a crypt?_

Lightning flashed and the answering thunder was soothing now that you were under a roof and the _booms_ were muffled by thick infrastructure. 

_Why do I have to_ let _him live in a crypt?_

You smacked yourself on the head. _Boundaries_ . You were just going to have to work on _boundaries_. 

_But he loves the crypt._

He did love that goddamn crypt. You rolled your head back, looking up at the beautifully carved ceiling.

_And Dettlaff loves the crypt._

You shook your head, getting annoyed at yourself. 

“Why do I _glow_ during thunderstorms?!” you tossed your arms in the air, remembering your real predicament. You felt the divine upholstery beneath you. _But_ is it _your real predicament?_

_What?_ You thought back to yourself, _of_ course _glowing like a candelabra is the_ real _predicament?! Am I insane?!_

“Everything alright?” 

You jumped at the sound of Regis voice and rolled over only to get a large linen shirt to the face. You gathered the fabric in your hand, tearing it off with an accusing look at Regis.

“Dettlaff’s,” Regis gestured to the shirt.

“What do you _mean_ is _everything alright?”_ you asked, sitting up. The buckles and buttons of your armor were slippery and elusive as you tried to grasp them. “I’ve got it,” you told the surgeon-barber, slapping the spindly finger he reached out with to help.

“I mean that you seem slightly _frazzled_ ,” Regis’ twinkling eyes were starting to annoy you, the way they observed your struggling hands with such puzzled amusement. 

“ _Well_ ,” you finally pulled your armor off, “ _what_ ,” you tried to not get distracted by the fact that Dettlaff’s scent was still on his shirt as you popped your head into it, “do you expect?” 

Regis was peering at the storm when your head popped out of the hole of Dettlaff’s shirt. It hadn’t been an easy hole to find through all of that fabric. You looked down as you unbuttoned your lower armor and saw that Dettlaff’s garment fell midway of your thigh. _And this is one of his_ short _tunics,_ you thought _._ You grabbed the pair of breeches Regis had brought down only to realize that they were actually a long brown skirt as you lifted it.

 _Oh fucking hell._ You sighed, stepping into it. _Actually,_ you twirled, _this a nice change of pace._

Regis was obviously deep in thought when you glanced at him again, and you let him continue to be, deciding to get the mail instead. You were feeling a little moody, and if his pondering the lightning situation could get you answers without having to wait two more days to talk to Yennefer about it, that was fine by you. 

You walked across the courtyard to the stable and stepped inside. The side door was where Regis had built a small hatch for parcels and mail after deeming the front door ‘less secure’. You wondered who Toussaint’s Master of the Posts was as you went to cross the stable, then stopped. _Fuck._

You’d left your boots in the living room and the floor to the stable was less than... _desirable,_ in terms of what one would want to put under their feet. You shuffled, suddenly concerned with how Mers must be doing outside...not to mention Dettlaff better not be letting Dacreval fly around all willy nilly in this deluge. You looked across the stable to where the door and post box was. 

“You can do this,” you lied to yourself, thinking about how you could open the doorway to Krael’ef and try to _glide_ across the stable. You eyed the distance and frowned, _and if you don’t make it, you can simply fall face first on the ground._ It seemed ridiculous, now that you thought about it. This _wasn’t_ Krael’ef, and you didn’t even know _how_ to go about moving yourself around in the waking world. The rules were... _different_ here, in that there actually _were some_. Or at least that’s how it felt, compared to the ease of which things came in the other. You sighed and, feeling defeated, closed your eyes. Searching for the energy, you found it, grasping onto it like it was your lifeblood, you conjured the tear and stepped through it. 

You opened your eyes. 

The stable looked exactly the same, despite the fact that it _wasn’t,_ and you shivered. You let yourself fill with the energy that was calling all around for you to do so. Taking a deep breath, you pictured the other side of the stable as you leapt off from your stance…

...and immediately smacked the door on the other side as you reappeared. 

_“Ow.”_ _Still needed to work on my landings._ You rubbed the bump on your head and created another doorway, stepped through it to the real world and opened your post. You thought about how absolutely ridiculous this felt as your hand grasped the contents of the box, before stepping back through the still opened door to Krael’ef. 

“Absolutely _absurd,”_ you sighed to yourself, closing your eyes at the distance and falling into the stance. 

/\/\

Geralt’s bootheels clamored up the palace stairs as the thunder continued to roll outside, drumming the white stone walls surrounding him each passing. He was not the biggest fan of government work, but seeing as he was being called on by the same woman who reigned over the land of his permanent housing situation, and he _quite_ liked the living situation, he decided to oblige. That, and if she had knights questioning his friends and the father and of his nipo, he’d rather be closer to the situation than not. 

And lastly, because he was mildly interested in what this contract could be.

Or at least that’s what the witcher had told himself he was doing this for _before_ remembering how uncomfortable palaces were. He reached the top of the stairs and approached a short, stout man- which took some time, considering the landing was hilariously large and the man seemingly refused to meet him halfway.

“You’re not Damien de la Tour,” Geralt observed dryly. 

“Very good, sir,” the stout man in the plum hued outfit replied before scraping his nose on the floor in a bow. He erected himself, “right this way.”

“Hm,” Geralt followed the man and the lively clapping of his shoes on the marble. 

He led the witcher down to the end of the extensive enfilade, which opened up to an impressive, teardrop shaped hall looking out over the city of Beauclair. The witcher stopped, then, at the man’s gesture, and sat in a chair against the wall opposite the windows. 

“The Duchess will be with you shortly,” the man bowed, then turned on his heel and left. 

Geralt sat back as much as the petite, uncomfortable chair would allow and scratched his chin. “The Duchess herself, huh.”

His eyes wandered to the floor to ceiling windows and beyond them, to thunderous Beauclair and the lake, and beyond the lake, to the tourney grounds, which Geralt imagined were more or less reduced to a muddy pen by this point in time, whatever they were using them for this year. The witcher sighed, and as the hall echoed his sigh back to him, began pondering the uncomfortability of palaces.

\/\/

“It will be _fine,_ Maina,” Regis’ voice was coaxing, if not borderline condescending as the two of you strolled (in all honesty _you_ more or less were stomping) down the street hand in hand. You thought that if you went and got Mers, Regis would give up on the fitting and let you just ride home, but no, he held you to your proposal. Mers was safe in the stable and now, the afternoon maturing, you were heading to a _fitting._

“Regis,” you began, and felt his fingers twitch and...and... _damn it it’s hard to be angry at him when he reacts to his name like that…_

“Maina,” he replied, peering up at the sky, “hypothetically, were I to slip…”

“Yes, Regis, I would catch you,” you assured him, “but don’t slip, because if you haven’t noticed it’s still storming.”

“Yes, right,” he mulled it over, opening the door to the tailor’s shop. His voice cracked as he added, “another time, then.”

Pierre kept glancing over at you the entire time Regis was standing on the platform behind the partition, and you were going back and forth between reasoning that it had to be that you were beginning to glow, _or_ because you looked ridiculous wearing a skirt under a shirt that already fit you like a _dress_. Not that Pierre’s input could possibly matter that much. You didn’t care _who_ loved his fashion sense, the tailor wore entirely too much gold jewelry. And silver jewelry. And gemstones. 

The tailor just wore a lot of jewelry. 

You hadn’t realized that Regis had had several different doublet’s started for himself before you arrived. _If only I would have gone with Dettlaff to his fitting._ Leaning on your armrest, you stared out the second story window as the rain came down, wondering how the new crib was coming along. Absentmindedly, your hand went to the small of your belly, and you started to hum to your unborn child, noticing the little bump was growing. _Hmmmm._ You hummed to them again, and warmth spread in your chest and to your extremities _. Regis._ Your throat was beginning to grow dry for the vampire currently concerning himself with the cut of his new trousers.

“Maina, do you prefer blue on just yourself or? I’m having trouble finding my color.” Regis’ voice sounded like he was staring at himself in a mirror, which was hilarious because you knew he didn’t have a reflection.

_Wait a second._

You were standing, your heartbeat was quickening as you tried to piece together Pierre’s behavior and the fact that you _knew for a fact_ that there was a mirror on the other side of that partition. 

“No, no, no, Madame,” Pierre began frantically waving his hands as you approached.

“It’s _fine,_ ” you made to push past him, “we’re already _more_ than well acquainted. I assure you seeing him won’t ruin a thing…”

Pierre grabbed you by the hand as you pushed the partition out of the way and he gasped, “I am so sorry monsieur.”

You saw a Regis-less mirror before Pierre’s hand was covering your eyes. Grabbing at his hand, you threatened, “Hey! Let go or I’ll do something...sinister!”

“Pierre, please,” Regis stated, and you could _just tell_ that he was forcing back a chuckle, well _good for him._ When the hand didn’t move, Regis added admonishingly, “she’s pregnant with my child, Pierre, and I love her.”

You were just having to restrain yourself from filling with energy and _accidentally_ sinistering Pierre when Regis spoke and you were released. You turned at the tailor like a mad dog. When you faced him, though, you noticed something you hadn’t before. His fingernails. 

“You’re a vampire,” you stated blankly, and the man blushed.

Pierre looked behind you to Regis, who apparently had been encouraging, because he drew himself up, nodding.

“Yes,” he replied in a luxurious accent, “I am a katakan.” 

Your eyes widened and you found yourself smiling. It felt unreasonably pleasant to meet another vampire.

“A katakan?” you beamed, discovering his hand in yours as you wagged it enthusiastically. 

“Yes,” he repeated, and before you knew it he _too_ was smiling like an idiot. Then his brow dropped and his eyes shifted to Regis, “though your husband-to-be could have told the other one I was a vampire.” 

“The _other_ one? _Oh,”_ you smiled, “Dettlaff?”

“The big one, yes,” Pierre nodded.

“I replaced the mirror, did I not?” Regis asked behind you.

“Wait,” you cocked your head at the katakan, “Dettlaff broke a mirror?”

“He did indeed,” Pierre snapped sassily, “feigning it was an accident, but I _know_ it was so that I, helpless human shoppe owner to his eyes, would not find out he was a true higher vampire without a reflection to his name, no doubt. By the time he recognized I was what I was, the mirror was-” he pantomimed shards flying, “ _pwooosh.”_

“Do katakans _have_ reflections?” you asked, suddenly trying to _not_ look at his jewelry, which made all the sense in the world, now. 

“The lucky ones,” he smiled, and you realized the two of you were still holding hands. It didn’t feel... _weird,_ though. It felt nice, and you smiled back at him. Regis should have just told you he was a vampire. 

You pivoted to tell him just that, but froze. Your mouth fell open and your hand slid out of Pierre’s at the sight of Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy standing on the fitting platform. He looked... _very_ intimidating. Intimidating in a very, _very_ good way. You swallowed, looking at him in this velvet, emerald colored jerkin he had on. It accentuated the width of his shoulders, and the narrowness of his waist. Then his chest, which was delicately curved but masculine, like he was...and...

You were definitely staring, and the older vampire examined your behavior with an insecure look on his face, then peered down at his dress clothes. You tried to speak.

It came out a little, desperate cough.

“Yes?” His mouth didn’t close completely after asking it.

“Um,” you licked moisture onto your drying lips. He looked _good._

“Pierre,” the steep cheekbones of Regis’ face were turning red, “I believe it’s Maina’s turn.” He looked away from you, stepped off the platform and walked out of the room.

You stared at the door long after he walked through it.

“Heavens,” Pierre set the partition back up from the floor, “I can't say I've ever seen one of his species fluster like that before.” He smiled widely at you. "I like you, Maina."

  
  


/\/\

A loud door shutting roused the witcher from where he knelt, meditating on the floor. Geralt peered through his right eye and decided that, were it the Duchess approaching, they would make a little bigger deal out of it. Trumpets, french horns... _some_ sort of brass accompaniment. Instead he heard loud exclamations of love.

A man was soliloquizing on the other end of the hall where, apparently, a different escort had dumped him to wait as well. 

“I swear,” Geralt said through gritted teeth as the voice grew louder. There was only one bard the witcher considered a friend, and this one wasn’t him, “if that’s who I think it is.” 

“...such as, a petal from a rose regrows each spring, so does...Oh,” the footsteps on the marble stopped, “mister witcher? Is that you?”

Geralt closed his eye again, “Hello, Francois.”

“It _is_ you!” the man nearly danced over to the other on light, talented feet. “How doth thee fare, good sir witcher?”

“Witcher is fine,” Geralt corrected.

“How doth thee fare, good witcher?”

“ _Just_ witcher.”

“Ah,” Francois’ tone piqued Geralt’s interest, and he opened his eyes to see the other, more artfully dressed man shaking his head at him sympathetically, “she’s kept you waiting, I see, and it has soured your mood.”

The kneeling man shrugged, “yeah, guess it has.”

“Never to worry,” Francois pirouetted perfectly, “I have just the cure! _OOOOOhhhhhhh---- the lady of the garden’s green was-”_

“No.”

Francois nodded his head in-time at the witcher, “ _but-the bird-chirp not-a song, aaaaa longing of-a-”_

“No, no no,” Geralt stood, wagging his arms in front of him for the bard to see. 

“What is wrong?” Francois’ eyes darted to the left and right as if something terrible must be happening without his awareness. When he saw no threat, he straightened himself. “Why have you demanded I stop? Explain yourself.”

Geralt looked at him, “Just, don’t sing.”

He knelt back on the marble floor, feeling a pang of guilt for telling the bard to shut it, cursed himself for being here, and earnestly questioned if the knights were trying to faze him as Francois reloaded his eager diaphragm.

\/\/

You were putting your clothes, well, _Dettlaff’s_ clothes...and the errant skirt, back on and feeling much, much happier after that fitting. Pierre was an absolute _joy_ to be around. He was funny, knowledgeable, and had a slight, hilarious disdain for true higher vampires that you found both fascinating and informative. He didn't know Dettlaff very well, but he was at least very fond of Regis, despite him being a true higher vampire. You heard Pierre shifting fabric around in the corner when an overly sweet, saccharine voice filled your ears and your hairs stood on end. 

“My, my, Pierre. They’re entrusting _you_ with the wedding? What an honor.”

Pierre dropped the fabric, surprised, and you peaked through the grate of the partition to see two hazel eyes across the room staring right back at you.

“Why, if it isn’t Maina,” Orianna smiled, and you swallowed. 

“Hello,” you replied, your voice deciding to turn the word into a three part journey and you cleared your throat. The last time you saw her she wasn’t exactly pleasant. 

_At least she’s addressing me, now._

“I’m sure you think quite highly of the human who ensnared not one, but _two_ vampires, eh, Pierre?” she beamed as you walked beyond the divider. Her smile was beautiful and she was, in all honesty, a very beautiful vampire. She winked at Pierre, “it’s the hair, I’d wager.”

You actually snorted, and found yourself being taken out of a daze, but not unpleasantly. When Orianna smiled at you this time, it was genuine, but more like an alchemist staring into the petri dish of a peculiar new mold than anything equal, and you started to feel apprehensive about her.

Black and navy smoke billowed around you, then. “I do hope your pregnant palate is in the mood for pan au chocolat,” Regis’ voice was encompassing as he materialized in front of you, back facing the other two unfazed. “Hello, Orianna,” he greeted her without a glance - his soft dark eyes peered down at you as he took a step closer. He swallowed, and his eyes unfocused on your skin, turning into a weapon as he rubbed your arms soothingly, “I do hope you’re treating my fiancee respectably.” His voice was quiet and his gaze slipped dangerously to the side before he turned around. 

Orianna’s face scrunched up slightly, and Pierre looked at her disappointedly out of the corner of his eyes.

The red haired vampire sucked air in through her teeth, “Oooof, right. It is difficult at times,” she gave you an apologetic look. “Bad habits die hard, don’t they, Regis?”

Regis posture stiffened, so you reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, thawing him. His dark eyes found you before he brought you in close to his side and kissed you _hard_ on the top of your head. “That they do.”

He was looking into your eyes and beginning to smile. Then he looked at the red haired vampire frankly, “but they do die, Orianna, and I fully expect you to _bury_ yours when it comes to my family.”

“Oh, _Regis,_ ” she flattened her elaborate skirts and walked up to you, extending a hand that you weren’t sure what to do with. You took it.

She had very, very soft skin.

“I’m sorry, Maina,” she scrunched up her face again, as if she knew better and it looked surprisingly earnest, “it’s just that I’ve had a checkered past and I’m still learning. I always do this sort of mesmerizing thing and after putting a lot of thought into actually think is a bit of a defense mechanism.”

You opened your mouth as if you had had something to say, but had absolutely, unequivocally, _nothing_ to add to that. So you bobbed your stupid, wide eyed head and closed your mouth, instead.

“Forgive me?” she asked.

“Sure,” you shrugged, acting relaxed but your voice was pitchy. 

“See, Regis? Everything’s in order.” She smiled.

The three of you bid goodbye to Pierre before heading out into the rain. You were shocked when Orianna walked _with_ you, insisting you return to the patisserie on the western side of Beauclair with her to show you, personally, which were the real pregnancy treats. 

“You’re a mother?” You clarified once in the bakery. That surprised you. 

“I sure am,” she replied, “though it’s been ages since I’ve seen any of my children and they are _incredibly_ grown. Motherhood is quite different when,” she looked up and down the display counter, “when you’re as old as I am, let’s say.” 

The baker looked at her quizzically, wiping his tongs. The red haired vampire pat your arm where she interlocked it with her own.

“You’ve _never_ spoken to me about your children, Orianna,” Regis acknowledged as she took the berry tarts from the baker and paid him. 

“And why should I have?” she handed them to you and inclined her head at the small bag of goodies as if to say _‘trust me’._ You took a peek inside at them, and trust her you _did._ “I don’t owe you a full background detailing of my life, Regis, _especially_ the more sensitive topics, such as motherhood.” Regis opened the door for the three of you and Orianna led you out of it, “but if I can impart some wisdom, for instance, where to find berry tarts good enough to make you forget bloodlusting after virgins, then I will.”

You heard her suck air in through her teeth again, her face scrunching up.

“Ooh,” she pursed her lips, letting your arm go so that, you thought, you could back away from her if you wanted to, “I _am_ going to need practice with this, aren’t I?”

A smile formed on your face as you looked at her and, trying not to laugh, replied, “yeah, maybe a little bit.”

“Well then,” she clapped her hands together, smiling up at the clouds raining down on the three of you walking back to the stable, “talk me down! Tell me about this wedding I’ve been invited to because I haven’t attended something...well, something so _my kind_ in quite a little while.

“That is,” you laughed, “a very good way of putting it.”

You looked back at Regis, smiling, and saw that he was already looking at you, but not in a great way. 

_Crrraaaacccck._

You jumped at the sound of thunder. 

“Regis,” Orianna’s voice was apprehensive, and you looked at her to see her brows knit in confusion, “are you alright?”

“Oh,” you began, wondering if she’d been pregnant with a _human_ man, to not know what was happening with Regis, “it’s um, a pregnancy thing.”

Her eyes got wide, “ _love-ly.”_

  
  


/\/\

The room the witcher stepped into was darker than he had expected it to be. It was also much colder than he would have thought a Duchess would keep her council stoked at. There was a man standing in the corner of the room, and the witcher recognized him as the knight as he walked to the edge of the advisory. He imagined there would have been more people present.

“Geralt of Rivia,” The Duchess greeted the witcher with a warmth he felt little of- a fabricated warmth. He'd just been put through enough ballads to last him a year - save for one or two that he could do with hearing again at any time - and he was ready to hear what the details of this contract were. 

“Sit,” the Duchess gestured to a much more ornate, maplewood chair than he had been sitting on in the teardrop room. Or had it been a hall? He wondered what the hell _this_ room would be called as he looked around at it. He wondered how they came up with the names for the rooms in the first place. They always seemed so _arbitrary_ to him. He sat in the chair. 

The Duchess Anna Henrietta stared out at the landscape before her, her back to the witcher, “such weather we are having.” She shook her head. 

Geralt blinked, pursing his lips. “No offense, but I don’t think you summoned me here to talk about the weather.”

“How dare you,” a low, heavily accented voice carried over from the dim corner of the room, and Geralt looked over to see Anna Henrietta’s first Knight walk into view, “the Duchess commands your respect.”

The Duchess Anna Henrietta’s daintily laced sleeve fell back from her hand slightly as she raised it, “It’s fine, Damien, the witcher Geralt is right.” She turned around, hands folded in front of her, “I have summoned you here because we have had four young, increasingly well-to-do Toussaintois’ go missing since the Sang Grapes were planted this spring. I cannot allow them to remain missing, nor for these _occurrences_ to continue.”

“Hm,” Geralt considered the information, “Can I…” the witcher stopped, trying to think of a way to address her properly, but came up short, and her gaze was beginning to unsettle him, so he went on. “Can I have a little more clarification on what you mean by ‘well-to-do’?”

The Duchess' sleeve fell back once more as she silenced the eager Damien. The look on her face alone could have done the job well enough, the witcher thought. She then nodded her head regally and spoke. “Of _course._ All four are from influential families of Beauclair and greater Toussaint. Three of them have family ties to wealthy vineyards,” she spoke the sentence with the utmost contempt, and composed herself before adding tersely, “and the last is the son to one of my trusted advisors.”

Geralt nodded.

The Duchess looked lost for a moment, and motioned to the knight, “Sir Damien de la Tour will inform you of the rest. He is captain of the Ducal Guard, and will be leading their investigation of the missing civilians.”

The Duchess Anna Henrietta turned around and stared back out at the lightning streaked, tempestuous view before her. Damien de la Tour approached Geralt, his head tilted back as he watched the witcher rise and waited for him to walk out of the room first so he could follow. 

\/\/

-

“I’ll be _right_ back,” you slid the large oak doors to the kitchen, closing Orianna’s pensive face off from your line of sight and turned to rest your back against them. 

_Never thought I’d be on_ this _end of acting casual with a vampire before_ , it was amusing to you how polite Orianna was being despite her _evident_ apprehension. 

“Have you taken it?” you hopped down the three stone steps of the living room and over to Regis pacing in front of the couch where he had left his vest and the dose of suppressant inside it earlier that day.

“Did you hear me, cavta?” you asked.

The older vampire stopped pacing and watched as you approached. You reached out and started rubbing Regis’ upper arms, trying to comfort him. He blinked down at you, and you watched as his pupils dilated. You hadn’t seen either of them slip up since the day you found the body- they’d been downing the concoction like humans do water, after that. Regis’ face was closer than it had been a moment ago, and you realized you’d forgotten how very _distant_ and very, very _close_ they feel when hormonal.

It was...not altogether unpleasant, having their attention so acutely focused on you, you thought, as the dark, murky depths of Regis pupils watched you like a cat moments before it pounced. Like you were the only thing that existed, and you were so bright and shiny. 

Regis’ lashes fluttered. His hand started to slowly climb it’s way up under Dettlaff’s shirt and you grabbed it, holding him there. He closed his eyes, and rested his forehead on your shoulder. “Yes, I took it.” 

“Very good,” you held his face, feeling his cheekbone jut into your palm. You released his hand from your other and started massaging the back of his neck, and felt his chest push up against you as he took a deep breath. Regis’ arms slid around the small of your waist before he possessively tugged you to him, the force of the gesture pushing air out of your lungs. But his body felt nice and smelled sweet.

“I might feel better, if,” his voice was creaky, his muzzle going to your shoulder. “It’s utterly absurd.”

“ _Open_ and _honest_ , remember?” you reminded him.

The coarse skin of Regis’ chin bore into the place between your clavicle and your shoulder. He was trembling, now, as he croaked out, “Clav.”

“What?” It took you a second to realize that he was speaking the vampiric word for _bat,_ and your body jolted back, “why?”

You weren’t upset, just surprised. 

His faraway eyes were beginning to peer in the direction of Orianna and you brought him back to you by the chin. “You’d feel like I were safer?”

He nodded his prominent muzzle. Pinching his eyes closed as if embarrassed. 

“If it makes you feel better, it’s not stupid or silly, Regis,” you held his face, again, and he leaned into it. _Really_ leaned into it. It looked and felt like he was marking his territory. You thought it was a very Dettlaff thing for him to do, and promptly realized that that was probably your cue to leave him to transform. 

-

You were brewing more hormone suppressant in the kitchen, because as important as it could make you feel to take care of a higher-fucking-vampire, you would like to see your son sometime this century. This day was _dragging._ _I can’t believe I’m eager to get back to the fucking crypt,_ you thought, taking a deep breath. Being here did force you to acknowledge how much you missed the comforts of the mansion. 

You had to admit, it felt _pret-ty_ weird having Orianna there, in her old living quarters, watching you brew Good Vampire Behave Juice in what used to be her kitchen. You felt bad for not knowing how to host, and it was turning into you also not knowing how to tell her it was okay for her to leave. It was ridiculous to you that this could be enjoyable or even _fun_ for her, and you were beginning to wonder if this was what ‘gal palling’ was, and if you were doing it right. 

You were stressing so fucking much about whether or not you were doing this right. The only other friend you had was a stinky, flirty witcher who was obsessed with your son and drove one of your husbands-to-be insane. _Other friend? Maina, don’t get ahead of yourself._

“I _can’t_ believe they both get like this,” Orianna awed, breaking your train of ridiculous anxieties. Turning to look back at her, you saw that she was peering through the now open oak doors at Regis, who was currently furry, massive, and curled up in a comfortable looking ball on the floor of the living room sleeping. Frankly, it was adorable, you decided, and you were _glad_ the living room, with all the couches pushed to one side and all the cushions moved to the floor, could accommodate him. You were fighting your overwhelming desire to go plop on him. _Get it together._ You shook your head, going back to the kettle. _He sure was out like a flame on a damp fucking wick, though._

“It _is_ pretty interesting,” you admitted, stirring the pot, “seeing their hormones manifest each time, though it’s more or less the same I think.”

“Has it ever manifested like this before?” Orianna asked, her voice pitching and obviously more than interested. You pondered the question.

“Not yet, though Regis _has_ become exhausted from it before.”

“How does _Dettlaff_ handle it?” Her voice became sober, “I vividly remember the last time...what his behavior was like.” Your hand slowed on it’s way to reuniting the kettle with its lid. You remembered how Orianna had treated you then, too. It was like she’d read your mind, when she broke the silence. “I’m sorry, Maina. For the way I behaved last summer...it was uncouth. I was working on some things.”

You turned to face her. She was looking up and around the ceiling of the kitchen as if she could see her prior misdeeds through the walls of her familiar and estranged surroundings. “A many number of things, even. I can’t say now that I’m much better when it comes to any old human,” she took a deep breath, “I think it’s disdain.”

The last word came out in a sigh.

She rested her cheek on her balled fist, her ever relaxed posture kept surprising you. “But you,” Her eyes traveled up beyond her brows at you walking around the counter to sit next to her...and to be able to look at Regis through the archway into the living room, “you however, are ref _reshingly_ easy to talk to. I’m starting to think that maybe these ornery old hoots are onto something.”

You smiled at that, and took the last bite of your berry tart, about to ask her what in the world the event she was holding this summer was when you felt a warm, inviting energy swirling and approaching from the direction of the front gate. You perked up immediately.

“Dettlaff’s here!” you beamed, hopping to your feet.

“Excuse me?” Orianna questioned, her voice trailing and cutting off as the door closed behind you. Dettlaff had Dacreval cupped in his hand as he took the steps down from the front gate twofold, and your heart melted. Colliding with him on the steps, he simultaneously swooped down and picked you up. 

Dettlaff’s low chuckle vibrated through the very sturdy kiss he planted on your cheek, and you took Val from him immediately to hold him, which simultaneously allowed Dettlaff another arm to hold _you_ with. Your small bat was looking _very_ proud.

“Maina,” Dettlaff’s deep voice was heady and excited, “you will never believe what happ-” he stopped, “Orianna?”

“How could you tell?” you asked, then saw Dettlaff’s nostrils flaring ever so slightly. _Damn._ His grip on your butt tightened. You and Dacreval were suddenly being wrapped up by his other arm as well, barring you protectively from anything that wasn’t his body. “She’s been great, Dettlaff.” 

He looked at you, his entire face softening at your happiness. His gaze dropped, and he pursed his lips, walking towards the house. “What does Regis say about it?”

“He’s fine with it,” you replied, using your entire hand to cup his wide chin and directing it towards you, looking straight into those tender, blue gray eyes of his. His lips didn’t ease up.

“If he feels it is safe,” Dettlaff didn’t seem entirely convinced, but his pace didn’t waver towards the kitchen door as he took the handle of it, “though I would still like to talk to him.”

You felt how tight his body was and started massaging his head through his hair.

“Well he’s a bat right now, so,” your and Dettlaff’s tiny little fur ball was rolling around playfully in your palm and you felt your heart ignite. “Dacreval could spend quality bat time with Regis!”

You almost shouted it you were so excited, and Dettlaff’s energy immediately felt less like a weighty curtain and more like a billowy cloud at the state of you. He cleared his throat, stopping just inside the door.

“I like that idea very much,” Dettlaff bit the dark arch of his lower lip and sucked on it. His voice was lower than usual when he leaned his head in next to you and said, “I am so grateful for you.”

Dettlaff’s other hand left it’s post at your hip and pat Dacreval on his head. Your son stopped mid roll and sat, small legs splayed on either side, enjoying his father’s embrace until Dettlaff let out a small, happy, “hm” and started _tickling_ Dacre. Your son’s tiny wings attempted to protest, but he simply reduced to a chorus of happy, uncontrolled chirps. He was _so_ precious. He was such a happy baby. Dettlaff squeezed you, his forehead still resting against your temple. 

A throat clearing pulled you out of your haven and you thought, for a moment, that maybe you wanted to die rather than face this embarrassment. Orianna was still sitting at the island, her brows raised appraisingly, “Dettlaff.” She smiled, but her eyes were on Dacreval. The look on her face was one of fascination.

“Orianna,” Dettlaff greeted. “How are you?”

You perked up, not having expected him to talk to her, then saw the look in his eyes and deflated. He took a deep breath, and you could tell that he was, on his part, at least trying. Orianna looked at your dark haired mate with an expression nearing incredulity, and smiled, “I’m well, thank you.”

“Let us join Regis,” Dettlaff suggested so stiffly that you had to stop yourself from kissing him as he set you down, grabbed your hand, and started walking to the living room. Orianna hopped up following closely.

“Maina, I hope you know that I am going to need to hold this little miracle,” she reached out, and you were almost able to hand her a more than curious Val, before Dettlaff gave you a soft tug that yanked you towards him probably more than he had intended. His energy had turned something wicked, just then and you brought Val back close to your body. The current of his energy immediately brought you back to the day he confessed to wanting to kill Geralt _last_ pregnancy. Your heart ached for him and his big, stupid, territorial instincts and how hard he was probably working right now to control them. Your heart also, for some reason, longed to kiss him all over for it.

Either way, you could tell that this was going to be a fun play date to oversee.


	10. [ART] Feels Like Voyeurism NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My week got C R A Z Y busy so I couldn’t finish this until today. Hoping I can write the next chapter tomorrow or at least start it, cause cuties. Cuties everywhere!
> 
> Hyperfocused on tiny things way too many times sketching this, but here it is! Going to have a Dettlaff x Regis piece sometime coming up cause OOOOOOOOOOOOF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'edit: I'm putting up a piece in the other art chapter in T-minus a little bit, ha ha mUAHAHAHAHA it isn't much.
> 
> Feel like I was listening to some great music while making this and I was going to mention it here but NOW I DON'T REMEMBER. Idk. I should go to sleep. Someone order me a PIZZA. 
> 
> Alright enjoy, y'all! :) <33


	11. Art Update: PIERRE!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ll move Pierre to the sfw Art Chapter after the next update probably 
> 
> There are also 2 new pieces in the other art chapter (I added one last Sunday? The other two nights ago). One is of Dettlaff skulking around the palace and then the other is a Regis doodle.

^ I had to start over after having gotten a little further than this point the first time around because I closed out of my program without saving.   
great way to hone your speed sketching skills. I was not pleased. I actually based him off of Pierre the Tailor Workshop owner in the game! 


	12. Vampires Love Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Orianna leaves, a misinterpreted remark by Dettlaff leads Regis to find solitude, but Dettlaff finds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some cute vampires who love each other. 
> 
> CW's at the end

Regis kept trying to put his massive wing around you in his sleep, which was as fantastic as it was scary, given the weight of him in this form. You were leaning up against his large belly, which pushed you into a further upright position with each lulling breath, and you didn’t really want to become squished by him.

“I assure you it is different from the Mandragora,” Orianna was smiling at Dacreval, trying to pet him despite his overenthusiastic hopping around Regis’ shoulders, “though some of them will be at the event.”

Dettlaff looked skeptical, but you gave him credit for just nodding. 

He _felt_ much less inviting than he was acting, still, but he was a lot better now that he had time to assess her behavior. You reached out and placed your hand on his, where he stroked Regis’s head in his lap. 

“I’d be lying if I wasn’t surprised you knew about the details of Mandragora parties in the first place, Dettlaff,” she went on, the calm Dettlaff had found from your touch waning by her assumption, but you could tell he was still thawing, “color me impressed.” 

You guided Dacre back to her, since it looked as if he were about to launch a full on investigation of Regis’ ear canal. 

“But there will be plays?” you asked, pushing Regis’ wing back away from you gently, before he could submerge you with it again. Orianna nodded, and you hoped Val would give her more attention. She was absolutely _adoring_ him and you were very, very happy about it. 

That being said, this three day soiree of hers was still a little baffling to you. 

_High society..._

“Yes, of course,” the red haired vampire replied, “what’s a weekend of Falconry without entertainment? My gods, can you imagine?”

Val finally stopped looking at you, Regis, and Dettlaff and started exploring her hand. Your eyes went wide when he opened his mouth and nibbled her. 

“Dacreval,” Dettlaff reached out and gently cupped Val off her hand, bringing him close to look him in the eyes, “we have talked about this,” he said quietly, scratching under the reddish fur of his chin, “we do not bite.” 

Orianna was hiding her surprise at Dettlaff’s gentle behavior _poorly,_ but got it together by the time he looked up at her. It was obvious to you that he had used his son’s nibbling to take him away from her, and you nudged his leg with your knee. A low vibrato emanated from him as he offered Val back.

You were going to have to thank him for being so accommodating later. He really was doing his best...

“Oh, I cannot tell you how precious he is,” her eyes were captivated by him and his light squeaking, “it’s so good to see another vampire child come into this world, it really is.” 

“I’m glad he gets to meet someone new,” you smiled. Your son hadn’t really a lot of chances to see or meet new people. Orianna went back to the subject at hand while still admiring the small vampire-human hybrid.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Maina. I assure you that it will be a more than charming occasion.” 

Val took a deep breath (or so you thought from the little expansion of his chest) and leapt off into flight, leaving Orianna smiling as she clasped her hands together. She looked at you reassuringly, “trust me.”

You weren’t exactly confident in either of your partners’ ability to behave the entire weekend, though you earnestly _were_ looking forward to getting out and seeing people, _and_ you _did_ already have Geralt’s assurance that he would watch Val. Besides, they could get emotional if they had to. It wouldn’t be the _end_ of the world.

Orianna was still looking at you when you grinned, “I mean, we definitely _are_ going. I just had a few questions about the finer details.”

“Glorious!” she beamed, “I don’t have _that_ many vampire friends around, other than Pierre and Regis, and anyone vampire...oh, let’s call you vampire _adjacent_ is just really rather splendid, isn’t it?”

She looked at Dettlaff, as if asking _him_ , and you snorted when the most bewildered expression overcame his face and he had to look at you, as if trying to get a lead on how to answer by asking you silently, before he turned back and simply, emphatically answered, “ _Yes.”_

Orianna pursed the corner of her lips at him before continuing, “we can have Pierre work on your attire.” Her eyes traveled down your front.

You really, really had to change out of this ensemble. 

“Oh, that’s alright,” you pushed Regis’ massive wing back away from you again, “I’m sure I have something.” 

“Please,” she smiled, standing, and you used the opportunity to narrowly escape another attempt by Regis to encapture you by joining her, “I insist.”

You actually _did_ want new clothes, though. You hadn’t really anything that fit you during pregnancy and...and you really didn’t want to think about how often you might be pregnant. 

“If you insist,” you smiled, and when Orianna’s returning smile was as genuine as it was, you couldn’t help but find yourself almost laughing. 

You followed her to the front gate where she assured you that she would be able to book Pierre on a moment’s notice, and you smacked yourself on the face for forgetting that the event was _next weekend._ Then you said your goodbyes. 

When you came back to the living room you found Regis in the middle of transforming back to his human form, head in Dettlaff’s lap. 

Regis yawned, “It’s about time she retired,” he started to stand, “normally, I am all for socializing but I daresay today was not my finest.”

Your jaw dropped at the fact that he was _supposed to have been out cold._

Dettlaff started to chuckle, and grabbed Regis before rolling over so that he had the other vampire pinned to the floor, straddling him.

“ _Someone_ can’t be around Orianna without having to turn into a _bat_ ,” he smiled amusingly as you sat down next to the two of them, your brows pinching in equal amusement as he teased, “I told you you were worse, you old barber.”

Regis’ hand went to Dettlaff’s face, pushing him, then simply cupping his cheek, and the younger vampire closed his eyes at the gesture. “You would have too, my dear. I was out of suppressant,” Regis’ lip started to curl and his head pitched to one side, “ _you_ could hardly control yourself _on_ it.”

Dettlaff lowered his face so that he was inches from Regis’, “it’s worse for me.” 

The smile on Regis’ face vanished, “that isn’t true.”

Dettlaff went to kiss him, but Regis put his hand on his chest, “this isn’t funny, Dettlaff. Now let me up.”

Face becoming tight, Dettlaff slowly sat up and watched as Regis got up and walked out. 

He stared at the floor, his energy was in a constant slow movement before it suddenly plunged and you reached out to him. Dettlaff looked at you, his eyes serious and worried, “I hadn’t meant it like that.” 

“Like what?” you asked, not entirely certain what had just transpired, but your chest was tight, and in pain. 

“I meant to say that I’m not able to control myself as easily as he,” his large hands were wrapping around you as you approached him, “I think he took it much differently.”

Val came to rest on Dettlaff’s shoulder. 

“You should go to him,” you whispered into his ear. Dettlaff held you tighter and nodded. 

-

Regis didn’t come to Dettlaff’s cave often, so he was not worried about anyone thinking that that is where he would have gone. He felt tears welling in his eyes, wondering why Dettlaff would remind him of his situation. 

The thing is, he _knew_ he was being over emotional, but at the moment he just couldn’t help it. He felt as if he were less. He felt as if he couldn’t live up. He felt like he was always going to be this _shell_ , _"you aren't some ridiculous_ shell," he assured himself.

That his acern ara was some reincarnation damning him to relive love after love after… " _You_ _aren't_ damned _either."_

He kicked the mattress, turning his back from the darkening view of Beauclair. 

He didn’t want to live through another acern ara after Maina. For her to become a memory. _How long do successful doors live?_ The vampire had been wondering this for nearly the past year. 

...and Dettlaff. How either of them came to found the old, jaded barber attractive was beyond him. The vampire sat on the bed. Sometimes the younger man seemed so tied up in their Maina that he wasn’t sure if he loved him back. Sometimes he seemed so possessive of her that it was difficult for the older to make sense of how Dettlaff felt about him. He’d been possessive of her before, too, but…

Regis let his body fall back against the mattress. Being the oldest, wisest, and in love with two much younger, more attractive, virile people was difficult. Especially when he didn’ feel the wisest. He felt old. Oldish. 

Sometimes he just felt old. 

The vampire acknowledged that he was most certainly letting himself down a rabbit hole. It was the happiest he’d been in…

It honestly was the happiest he’d ever been. 

Staring at the ceiling of the cave, he began to ponder if he was going to become more persnickety the more things went his way, or.

A beat.

He sat up, his skin was starting to prickle, and it had nothing to do with the wind coming from the cave’s entrance. Or the fact that the air was charged from the storm.

A beat.

Black and red smoke was billowing in from the outdoors and the older vampire straightened, watching as the smoke rearranged itself into a pillar and within, Dettlaff came into view. 

He swallowed at the younger man, then looked away at the heat in his chest. Dettlaff looked upset, worried. Probably sent here by Maina, the older vampire figured. 

“Regis,” the sound of Dettlaff’s voice sparked curiosity in the other, and he turned to face the imposing figure. Had he been crying? The leather clad man approached him slowly, “Regis, I am so sorry,” his voice was throaty, and Regis could hear him swallow.

The younger vampire’s face pinched, and Regis recognized he was struggling to find the words. 

Suddenly, Regis felt _very_ foolish. Dettlaff had meant it was more difficult for him because of his inability to emote, or to control how and when he emotes, with tact. With intention. With means to _communicate._

Perhaps this should have been more obvious to the older vampire. 

“Please,” Dettlaff’s voice was quiet as he sat down next to Regis on the mattress, and the older vampire held his head in his arms. 

“I think,” Regis began, remembering how nice it was to have the large, dark head of hair in his arms, the silkiness of his locks near his nose for smelling. The largeness of his shoulders against his chest, “I think I understand now, what you meant, my dear.”

Dettlaff nodded his head and after a few moments, Regis chuckled, “We’re just a couple of old saps at the moment, aren’t we?” 

Dettlaff’s large body jerked in a small, returning show of amusement, “Maina will need a gift for dealing with us.”

“You _did_ get the quails today, yes?”

The younger vampire lifted his head and laid back, pulling Regis against his front. Regis sighed as the younger, larger man held him close to his chest, his large thumb now brushing his lower lip tenderly. 

“Regis,” Dettlaff’s voice was that of feigned umbrage, “of course I did.” 

The older vampire closed his eyes when two lips met his forehead. 

“This is nice,” Regis stated, and went to say more - would have said more, but stopped. 

“Regis?” 

“It’s just,” he frowned, “sometimes I don’t feel that you...since Maina became…”

The older vampire sighed and had to sit up to look at Dettlaff in his steely grey eyes before continuing. 

“We’re together in this,” he put his hands on the younger vampire’s and squeezed them, “I’ve felt like you have been guarding Maina, and you do not need to guard her from me,” he felt his eyes watering, and he knew he was being hormonal, but sometimes the way Dettlaff acted... “don’t you love me?”

He felt the other inhale, and held it.

The younger vampire’s expression softened into something sweet and sad, and his voice went breathy as he held Regis gently by his jaw. “Regis,” it came out quiet, and when Regis went to pull his face away Dettlaff steadied it, forcing him to continue to look into his steely blue eyes, “...how?”

Regis thought his voice was beginning to change slightly, and he was being pulled closer by the large man.

“Regis, of _course_ I love you,” Dettlaff rasped out before bringing Regis to his face and he started to kiss him. Regis’ body went limp for a moment, overwhelmed by the force in which the younger was holding him, and he floated in that bliss before his hands found thick, black locks and grasped them, kissing him back. 

“Dettlaff,” Regis breathed, and the younger vampire began undoing his vest and he, his coat, “Dettlaff in my pouch...”

The dark haired man rolled over to grab the pouch he’d just thrown and searched it with his large hand, finding a glass bottle inside. His eyes went wide as he looked at the older vampire, “is this?”

“Lubricant,” the older vampire blushed, and saw that the younger vampire’s chest was now expanding and contracting as he looked at him, nostrils flaring. He ripped off his pants and Regis’ gasped at the huge, cock that fell out of it, already hard and eager. 

“I, um,” Regis was cut off by the younger as he grabbed his hips and pulled him towards him.

“I didn’t know you wanted this so badly,” Dettlaff’s voice was husky in Regis’ ear, “Regis,” he whispered, “you should have told me.” 

The older vampire remembered how Maina had told him to be more honest with the younger vampire, about wanting to get fucked by him _months_ ago, but…

Regis’ gasped, as Dettlaff pulled down his trousers and cupped the back of his body with his own. 

“Wait,” he began but didn’t have time to finish, the younger vampire really _was_ eager, and took his dick in his hand and started to rub it.

“I’m sorry, Regis,” he whispered as he rubbed him, his voice pitchy, _needy,_ “I just want to have you so badly…”

Dettlaff pushed, and Regis gasped again, holding the bedsheets, moaning. Dettlaff let out something wild and desperate as his hips pushed forward, forgetting to rub the older vampire's cock momentarily in his excitement, before rubbing his cock became one of the only things it felt like he wanted to do. 

He thrust again, and Regis bayed, the feeling of being filled and serviced by the large, capable man was driving him insane.

“Do you like it, Regis?” Dettlaff whispered in his ear, bent over him. It sounded to the older vampire that he was being _earnest,_ but his cock was so incredible how could he not know?

“Fuck, Dettlaff,” Regis whined, and Dettlaff cooed, bucking into him again, and again, and again. The small circular motions he was using to coax the older into cumming was beginning to work, the feeling of the younger vampire’s huge cock inside him, of his chest against his back, his low, throaty moans in his ear, were overwhelming him. Dettlaff started moaning his name as Regis’ cum began to spurt from his cock, grasping for Dettlaff behind him anywhere he could grab, and the younger held him close to his body with his other arm. As Regis took his dick, and yelled for him, Dettlaff’s bucking became erratic. 

“Regis,” Dettlaff yapped, the older vampire looked behind him to see his face was contorting beautifully as he called out for him, “ _Regis,”_ Dettlaff held him close, bucking harder, starting to kiss the older vampires sloppily, face, “Fuck, Re- _gis--_ ”

Regis was being suspended on the bed where Dettlaff held him atop his cock, filling him with his seed. The older vampire held the younger’s warm, sweating face as he thrust the last of his excitement into him, enjoying the feeling of his large chest against his back, then let himself fall back against Dettlaff when he fell onto the mattress with an ‘mmf’. 

“How long,” Dettlaff began, breathing, his chest pushing up against the older man’s as he pulled him in close, arm under his neck, “have you been walking around with lubricant in your pouch?”

“Oh,” Regis thought back on it, embracing the kiss on his forehead, and chuckled, breathing deeply himself, “Maina encouraged me to have it on hand, at all times, last winter.” 

“Maina,” Regis could hear the delight and approval in his blood brother’s voice, and laughed at how dreamily he spoke their mate’s name. He put his hands on the large chest against him and straddled the younger vampire, kissing him before resting his head between his jaw and his chest. 

“She is curiously enthusiastic about watching two old men fuck each other, isn’t she?” Regis laughed, and Dettlaff had to laugh too. The surgeon barber felt the arms around him tighten before a kiss was planted on the top of his head. 

Dettlaff’s chest was still bouncing lightly in laughter when he said throatily, “she loves us, Regis.” 

The larger vampire swallowed. 

“She and I both love you,” Dettlaff’s voice became more serious, and he cupped the older vampire by the chin, and suddenly, Dettlaffs piercing grey eyes were looking straight through him, “ _I_ love you.” 

Regis sniffled, and closed his eyes tight. 

“Gods, I needed to hear this,” he admitted, “I’m so unbecomingly insecure all of the sudden, it’s maddening.”

He peeked at Dettlaff, ignoring the younger vampire’s quizzical expression when he said ‘all of the sudden’. 

“I am insecure too, Regis,” Dettlaff kissed his cheek, his hand starting to rub his naked shoulder, “You were at Orianna’s…”

Regis snorted, “that was _one_ night, however _._ ”

Dettlaff cocked his head, “it is odd, but Dacreval grew much faster than this little one of ours.” 

“How much of it do you think will even be me?” Regis voice was choked, and Dettlaff’s body stiffened, as if that were the last question he wanted the other to ask. 

“I am sorry,” Dettlaff’s voice was creaky, “that you are still partly me.” 

The hands around the older vampire had lost some of their vigor, and Regis quickly looked up at the younger man, “I’m not,” he rubbed his face, “not anymore.” 

The younger man’s chest expanded quickly as he sucked in air, and him tightly.

“Regis…” Dettlaff’s voice trailed off and Regis squeezed him, sensing that a weight was being lifted. 

“I love you too, Dettlaff.” 

The younger vampire’s head nodded, but it really seemed like a ‘thank you.’

He held him tighter.

"Was that... _good_ for you?" Regis asked the other vampire after a few moments. He couldn't help it. He wanted to know. 

Dettlaff surprised him by letting out an involuntary growl, blushing. "Regis, have you seen your backside?"

"Have you seen yours..."

"What?" Dettlaff asked, earnest curiosity clear on his face.

“Let’s get back to Maina, shall we?" The older vampire coughed, "I don’t want her to witness the quails before we get there.” 

Dettlaff chuckled, “yes,” Regis could sense his spirits lifting, “neither do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs: depictions of sex (anal sex) between two of the cutest vampires ever


	13. [Art]Regis Portrait, DettlaffxRegis Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Survived the weekend and had half the day off, so I worked on this! 
> 
> I forgot to save jpegs of the process unfortunately (I zone out hard) so here are a few layer pics!
> 
> For clarification my tumblr is actually mackallackattack , not mackallack. 
> 
> Enjoy x)

  


  



	14. Sunshine SuperMorning, Bapba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dettlaff and Maina have a parenting milestone, Maina is distracted by Dettlaff's overwhelming beauty (heheheh) while trying to reenact her glowing mishap, Regis is a little worried about not having any name ideas for their baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's Sex
> 
> I think this chapter is cute cute cute 
> 
> Okay, hope you enjoy! I have a busy weekend so I probably won't update til it's over!

~*~

“I knew it!” You laughed, wanting to smack them...in a _good way,_ watching them walk into the forest. “I just _knew it!”_

Yeah, you were being obnoxious, but you didn’t care. It’s not like you were bothering the rest of the cemetery. You had a stupid, shit eating grin on your face at the fact that Regis and Dettlaff had _made up._

_You just knew it._

“M _e_ -nah,” Dettlaff sang as he swooped down, picking you up by the knees, nearly smacking your head against a branch as he gently held you against his front, your arms over his shoulder, “that isn’t polite.”

“ _Oh,”_ you replied, but felt Dettlaff chuckle and realized he was toying with you about it, through the brush of the branches he was trudging you through, and heard Regis chuckling as he followed close behind. 

That blush sure looked good on him. 

“You know what isn’t polite?” you started, and Dettlaff smacked your butt. 

“Hmm?” he rumbled, feigning indifference. “Where is our son?”

“Here,” Regis called, winking at you as Dacreval flew to him. Your mouth fell open at the devilish grin that spread on his face... and you both bit your lips at each other. 

You were very happy for him. 

“What isn’t polite,” you pat the large shoulder Dettlaff had you against, and eyed Regis significantly, fighting a smile, “is going off and- ow,” Dettlaff bounced, causing your belly to hit him, “stop that,” he chuckled beneath you, “is leaving me out of the fun-”

“Which is to say you wanted to watch us have sex.” Regis interrupted, crossing his arms and pretending to be disappointed. 

“I can’t believe _!_ ” you began, and felt Dettlaff laugh, Regis shaking his head and doing the same. _How obvious was this?_

“...Voyeur,” Dettlaff said under his breath, rubbing your thigh. 

“Not if you don't want,” you admitted, and reached down and tried to smack his butt, but couldn't reach it, “But I mean, you’re my fiances, after all. Fiancees. Fiances?”

“Fiancees?” Dettlaff shrugged, leaning his head on your side and nuzzling you.

“Fiances,” Regis rolled his eyes as, catching up to you and, having to trot to keep pace, went on his tip toes and kissed you. 

He smelled absolutely incredible. 

When Dettlaff set you down you realized he’d led you, Regis, and Dacreval to the chicken coop. _Why did Regis look so excited?_

Then you saw Dettlaff. _Why does Dettlaff look so excited?_

Quails.

“Oh my gosh!” you jumped, turning around and, sure enough in the chicken coop were now...six, seven?... “How many are there?” you asked for either to answer. 

“Ten.” Dettlaff boasted, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his head on your shoulder. 

“ _Ten?”_ Regis asked incredulously. “You _lush,_ Dettlaff.”

“Mmm,” his answer vibrated your shoulder his mouth sat on. 

“Forgive us?” his deep, handsome voice filled you with calm. 

“I _suppose,_ ” you said with mock hesitance, before ducking under Dettlaff’s arm and facing the two of them, “I was never actually upset in the first place.”

Regis looked at you as if that went without saying, before turning around, “I suppose I’d better get a start on dinner. Maina, don’t think that we’re not practicing tonight, even if you start to glow.” 

“What?” Dettlaff looked at Regis, then to you, then _you_ looked at Regis, who was smirking to himself as he walked off towards the crypt in the setting sun, which had _finally_ decided to show itself.

“Maina,” Dettlaff twirled you around to his body, “What is this about glowing?”

Oh, right.

“I’m actually not sure,” god, he was beautiful, “um…”

The grey blue intensity of his gaze was unrelenting as he peered down at you. “I was using Ailma during the thunderstorm, and Regis told me I started to glow.”

“Why were you using magic during the storm?” He sounded concerned. 

“To catch Regis.”

His brow dipped.

"From falling in the street."

Dettlaff’s eyes widened, “Maina,” 

“I know! I didn’t mean to,” you shrugged as the intensity of his gaze _doubled_ somehow, and you didn’t know if the effect was more chilling or _arousing_ to you. 

Then, the intensity changed, and instead of scolding (and scalding) it became...excited?

“There’s something else,” his deep vibrato became huskier in his excitement, and it was contagious. You could see under the black leather of his frock coat that his chest was dancing, and suddenly you were inhaling cedarwood as he kissed you, your arms being squeezed by large hands, before he disappeared. 

“Dettlaff?” you asked as your weight clamored forward from his sudden absence. 

A deep laugh from behind you made you turn around, and when you did, saw your beloved and your son walking up to you. Your son was walking up to you. 

Outside. On uneven ground. _Walkin_ _g._

Dacreval had grown at least... _How much?_ When did this happen? He looked more like a year and a half old than nearly only almost a year.

“Dacre!” 

You were absolutely crying stupid, happy, proud tears in the short time it took for your knees to hit the ground, open armed to your wobbly near-toddler as he let go of Dettlaff’s hand and ran to you in the silliest looking run possible.

As you wrapped him up in your arms, his long red hair needing a trim from his baba Regis, you noticed he smelled a little different, too. More like Dettlaff?

“How did you get so big?!” you asked, and he looked up at you giggling. 

Dettlaff positioned himself on the ground so that you were between his legs, and rested his head on your shoulder once more. 

“Say da-da,” he encouraged. 

“Oh my goodness. No, sweetie pie, say ma-ma,” you encouraged _more._

There was a part of you that admittedly _did_ want Val to say mom first. 

Large, soft lips planted firmly on your cheek, “ _No,_ mi filos _,_ ” Dettlaff spoke into the side of your face, squeezing you around your middle, “say da-da.”

“ _No,_ ” you both started laughing at Val, who was just having fun looking back and forth at the two of you, “Oh,” you amended, “say whichever you want.”

“Bapba,” he squeaked, his chest puffing outwards as his arms pushed backwards forcefully. 

You could hear Dettlaff swallow, and everything seemed to stop for a moment.

It was as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. 

“Baba?” he whispered, his large, leather-clad chest rising and falling faster against your back, “Maina, did you hear that?”

“Bapba baba,” Val was tapping the elbow of his father’s arm, looking at him.

“Val,” you beamed, “are you saying dad in vampiric? _Dad_?” You squeezed Dettlaff's arm as you said 'dad'.

Val was having his own fun, though, unaware of the gift he’d just given his father, until abruptly Dettlaff picked him up and you were being pulled backwards onto his chest. 

“My little one,” his large hand nearly drowned the front of Val’s shirt, his other nearly drowning the upper arm of yours. He gripped it so tightly that for a moment, you were afraid he’d forget to not break you. He sounded so happy, and you looked up to see his eyes had changed, had gotten dark, as if he were losing some sort of control, but he looked so unabashedly joyed. He looked so loved. 

Well he should. He _is_ loved, you thought. You reached out and stroked his chin. 

“Now you will have to say mama,” he was still beaming in wonder at Dacre, “or matrouv,” he looked down at you, dark eyes glistening, his pupils widening at the sweet sight of you, of his mate. As he peered down at you he whispered again, in awe of you, "matrouv."

-

You’d never been to this secluded part of the graveyard’s forest before this morning, and while you stood there, heat rising with the sun, there was one thought that just absolutely, unequivocally, could not escape you:

There was no way in the world your mate didn’t surreptitiously lift hay bales before you or Regis woke, or some other clandestine exercise. Dettlaff’s butt was just too perfect. His _back_ was too perfect. His _chest_ was too perfect. His shoulders were something else entirely...and what was up with his neck? Did he come into _existence_ like this? 

Sometimes you just were really beyond mystified as to how he called you the mother of his child and soon to be _children._

Regis’ slipped out of your arms and hit the ground again. 

“Maina,” you braced yourself at how matter-of-factly his voice sounded, “perhaps if you were to take a moment from fantasizing about Dettlaff…”

Your face heated, “sorry.”

But you were still regarding the large, mostly naked, all the way wet vampire bathing your son in the old wood trough. 

“Maina,” Regis scolded, getting to his feet. 

Was he sure that trough was even clean? You should go check again…

“You’ve already checked that the bath was clean,” he reminded you, stopping you dead in the tracks you hadn’t even begun to take. 

“I’m sorry, Regis, but,” you turned to the older vampire, pointing to yourself then the ground beneath his ass, “ _I’m_ obviously not getting this and it doesn’t feel great letting you fall each time.”

He took the inside of his hand and rubbed his face before resting his chin in it. “Admittedly neither does being _let_ fall.” 

Regis’ dark eyes narrowed. “What of this defensive move Yennefer is teaching you?”

There was a growing suspicion in you that the surgeon-barber wanted to help you hone your powers for reasons that weren’t _strictly_ academic. Or at least the way his mouth kept wanting to curl into a smile, or the way his nostrils would flare, or how he had to shake his head had you thinking that. 

“The defensive move…” he wouldn’t like practicing it. “You wouldn’t like practicing it.”

You shrugged, but it was true. 

“And why is that?”

You walked over to where he stood with his arms now on his hips, and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Suddenly, with your nose against his, he was smiling. 

“Because,” you started, and he took in your scent, “it’s a counterattack.”

Lips pursing, he shook his head at you. You _knew_ he wouldn’t attack you first. There was no way you could get him to do it, and you knew that. 

His eyes lit up. 

“What if,” you felt his arms wrap around you, “we went _there_ and practiced it?”

“ _There_ as in Krael’ef?” 

“Mmmhmm,” the way he was biting his lower lip was maddening. 

What had you been about to say. 

_Right._

“I already _know_ I can do it there,” you explained.

His nostrils were flaring, now.

“And why is that?”

Oh, your suspicions were _certainly_ turning out to be one _hundred_ percent correct.

“Because I can do just about anything there…”

Regis closed his eyes and exhaled, visibly calming himself. 

“You drive me insane, dear,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was throaty when he asked, “How are you feeling?”

His hand went to the small of your belly between you. 

“Good,” you replied, and he nodded, taking another deep breath. 

His grip on your sides tightened before he exhaled, “ _good.”_

You kissed Dettlaff and Dacreval before Regis took you by the hand and the two of you started making your way back to the crypt so you could take your pregnancy related draughts. Fia Filik Fite was not something you were very gracefully welcoming back into your diet, but your belly had grown _considerably_ in the past few days and both Regis and Dettlaff were adamant about you taking it more than you thought you needed to. 

Vampire human relationships required an unruly number of substances to keep all parties alive and functioning, you thought. 

Regis squeezed your hand, and you squeezed his back. 

“What is that?” you asked. A songbird you’d never heard before was calling out, and it sounded as if it weren’t a bird at all, almost. It sounded like chimes, spinning in infinity to the heavens. It was serene and staggeringly beautiful. 

Regis tilted his head to one side listening, before stating “Swainson’s Thrush. Their songs are quite uniquely gorgeous, aren’t they?”

A smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“They’re my favorite.” He added. 

You sat and pat Mers until Regis walked out of the crypt with two cups in his hand. As you downed the thick liquid, he stirred. 

“Will you walk with me?” he asked, and you obliged. 

He led you through the trees and downed headstones to the Sansretour where the two of you went fishing last summer, then passed it to a shaded area. You could tell there was something on his mind. It seemed like there’d been something on his mind all morning, but he wasn’t coming out with it. You sat on a beach log and watched as he stood in thought.

“Sweetheart,” you offered.

“What did you just call me?”

The vampire’s mouth was slightly ajar and his brows knit accusingly.

“Um,” your feet dug into the sand, “I called you sweetheart.”

A side of his mouth pulled back like a curtain and his face scrunched up. 

“ _Sweetheart?”_ he chuckled, as if mulling it over, and surprised you by letting his weight shift to the large rock behind him, before swiftly sliding down it onto the sand in front of you, leaning up against the rock. He crossed his arms, squinting up at you. “That’s delectable, isn’t it?”

You beamed, and two rows of pointed teeth beamed back at you. 

Gods, he _was_ sweet.

“Sweetheart,” Regis repeated to himself, arms still crossed. He heeled the beach in front of him, “I was wondering,” he bobbed his head, “ _yes_ , I _am_ aware that _you’re_ aware I’m distracted and I just,” he peered back up at you, eye squinting in the sun he’d accidentally just sat in. His eyes ran down your front, and you shifted. “Well, it’s just that I haven’t any idea what we’ll call them.”

“ _Oh,_ ” you sighed, relieved. “Hmm.” 

The side of his upper lip was scrunched up, showcasing a very handsome canine that made it difficult to concentrate. He scratched his arm with clawed fingers before going to hold yours. 

“You know, Regis,” his eyes became dangerous when you said his name, and he pulled you, lifting you up as he did so that you were now lying on top of him in the sand, and you couldn’t help but start to laugh. You let your forehead hit your horny vampire’s chest and you started laughing into it. It was very methodically maneuvered, and very _Regis._

He’d put your hands in his. 

“I’m not hearing any solutions, dear,” he reminded you from where he laid back, looking at the sun. 

“Oh my good god,” you controlled yourself, lifting up your front so that you were looking down at him. He ran a hand through your hair, eyes suddenly in a daze. 

“I do like sweetheart.” 

“We can’t name our baby that,” you said frankly.

His adam’s apple bobbed when you said baby. 

“No,” he smiled, “I suppose that we _cannot.”_

You rolled off of him and to his side, and his brows pressed together at you leaving him, “I don’t recall you receiving permission to do that.” 

“Mmm, but I don’t care,” you informed him. 

“How very rebellious of you,” he kissed your mouth. 

“What about Rohellec?” you asked. 

Regis’ face took a turn for hilarity, and he jut his jaw out at you, “ _Rohellec?_ ” 

“ _What_?”

You were being pulled into his side through the sand, a large muzzle in your neck, _“Ro-hell-ec?”_

It came out muffled and _tickled._ Laughing, you tried to push Regis’ muzzle out of the crease of your neck but he just rubbed it in there further, asking _“are you sure?”_ Which tickled even _more_ , and made you laugh even _harder._

“Reg- _is,_ ” you gasped, but large hands were on your sides holding you, and from the steady bobbing of his head _Regis_ was laughing, which made his side burns tickle your skin even more. 

“Sweetheart,” you giggled, and he held you, calming himself down and when you looked at him he swallowed, the laughter from before still lingered on his fragile countenance. A face you would defend with your life. He nodded his head to the side, shaking it, as if making sure you were real. His blink took a lifetime before his eyes resumed their rightful place, watching your expression closely. They went to your lips when you swallowed. When his parted, you saw that fangs were growing inside his mouth, and his eyes were growing dark.

“I love you,” he breathed, and snuck his arm under your neck, pulling you in. His brows were pitched in the middle, and his breath was hot on your neck when they met your skin and he broke it unexpectedly, and you quaked. His body shuddered, but his hands were so tender where they held you in place, for fear of hurting you. 

Looking out of the corner of your eye you saw that his were _very_ close, and watching you from under his brow intensely. You grabbed the back of his head reassuringly as he latched further onto you beneath your jaw, and the roundness of it felt good in your palm. It made you swallow. It made your insides _constrict_ , and his very large hand was making its way down your front, sliding up your dress and as his lips started to further wet your neck, his fangs digging deeper, he gripped your small clothes and _ripped them._

“ _Regis,”_ you gasped, but his next moves were frantic, and you were being rolled to your side facing away from him, his fangs deeply planted in your neck, feeling every huff of air that came out of him before you felt the round, soft head of his erection slide up your leg and you lifted your thigh. His fingers were rubbing your clitoris, stimulating you and you squeezed internally for him, rolling your hips in anticipation. His hand left your clitoris, as he huffed into your neck, and slapped your ass _painfully._ You moaned. “Fuck me, Regis,” you pleaded, and he slapped your ass again. You closed your eyes as he went back to rubbing your bulb, then felt him align himself with your opening - one hand firmly holding you by the jaw to hold you steady, the other rubbing you. “Fuck me, Regis,” you pleaded, again, and this time when you said his name his hand on your clitoris pulled you close and he slid his cock inside you. You felt Regis fill your pussy and hit you somewhere deep, and you squeezed his long, hard member with your inner walls, and rolled your hips around it. 

Regis detached from your neck and thrust again, staying deep in you and rolling his hips _forward_ , holding and keeping your hips flush urgently tight to his own. “Maina,” he whimpered over and over, and you felt his tongue slide up your neck as you wrapped your leg around his bouncing calf behind you for leverage, rolling your hips and ass into his groin, rolling his erection around inside of you. He moaned into your ear something low and guttural that you weren’t expecting, and felt his fangs brush up against your skin once more. His fingers were clawing at the skin of your jaw, pushing your face towards his, “get on top of me,” Regis breathed, his voice low and demanding as his hands went to grip you and he pulled hard dick out of you. You missed it, you wanted it back inside of you. Regis rolled onto his back and set you atop him so he could see you, and he growled. A hand on your neck pulled you downwards until you were facing the top of his head, and the bulbous head of his cock was inside your folds before he slid himself inside you, and you squeezed him immediately, rolling your hips, using his base to get yourself off as you rubbed yourself on him and he shuddered. Tearing the tie of your dress Regis took one of your tits in his hand and you moaned as the hard end of his tongue started playing with your nipple, his other hand going to your ass and kneading it to move you on himself. _“Fuck, Regis,”_ you whimpered, feeling him deeper and _deeper,_ and he pulled his hips back, you could feel the head of Regis' dick drag back inside you, he was tonguing your hard nipple, leaving you completely before he pushed and his cock was sliding back in again, he kept it there deep inside you, gyrating upwards as he latched onto your nipple and you felt the sweet release of him suckling from you. You gripped his hair, and his shoulder as he pulled his hips back and bucked into you again. His hand stopped kneading your ass and instead held it _down,_ then he really started to fuck you, rolling against you, and you started to lose yourself against his base, climaxing. Regis had both his hands firmly on your ass, pushing himself further and further into you when he growled low and guttural, and started cumming inside of your pussy, rolling his hips, quaking, chest heaving and wet with sweat. 

He shuddered, slowly his eyes started to look like his own again, and he pulled you down to lay next to him, kissing your face. 

“So,” you breathed, and he nuzzled you. 

You drew your head back, “are you marking me?”

Regis swallowed, then smiled roguishly and, instead of saying anything, pulled you in even closer and continued with his work, “I rarely do.”

“I love you,” you would have to bathe before your fitting tomorrow. 

_You should probably bathe now._

“I love you _very_ much, dear Maina,” Regis was in your neck before he stopped, apparently having decided that was enough scent marking. 

He was much different than Dettlaff in that sense, you supposed. 

You eyed the Sansretour and swallowed, “Regis?”

You heard Regis swallow in reply before answering throatily, “yes, my love?”

His hands were playing with your neck and shoulders, and face and you loved it. 

“Do you have soap on you?”

The surgeon barber allowed his head to roll back and upwards passed his brow at the river, then looked at you out of one squinted eye, “whatever do you want to bathe in that for?”

“It’s clean,” you shrugged, then your brows drew together, “and where does the well water come from?”

Regis snorted, holding you to him, and whispered closely, “the _well,_ my dear.”

“Oh,” you blushed, and Regis looked at you as if you should never be embarrassed about anything in your life, brushing your face with the back of his fingers. 

“It’s a river,” he looked worried and skeptical, “I can hold you, if that’s what you were to ask. You _know_ that, of course, I will hold you, dear.” 

You smiled. 

Regis stood and fished out his lavender oil from his satchel, then proceeded to remove his vest, his shirt, and his boots, standing in only his tattered tights. He was, in all honesty, unreasonably beautiful. You felt like an odd, pudgy-yet-skinny-yet...ass-having...you felt odd, in comparison to him. Regis’ looked like he picked up on your hesitance, because he walked back into the shade where you stood in your bralette and underskirt, and took your face in his hands, kissing you reassuringly.

He was a very reassuring kisser. 

“Ready?” he asked, raising his eyebrows as he lowered his head for you to see him. You nodded. “I won’t let go of you, Maina,” he reassured you. When you nodded again, he picked you up with an arm behind the knee and the other beneath the armpits, then briskly walked to the river. You closed your eyes and before you had time to protest, he submerged the two of you, getting you completely wet before you felt the water flow around you, surfacing, and Regis stopped bobbing. Then, you opened your eyes. 

He was standing in the tide on a sandbar. 

It was not incredibly comfortable. It was certainly the safest and calmest place in the river realistically, and it was still all in all, unnerving.

“Regis,” your voice came out surprisingly unsteady, betraying your cool, and he held you closer to his chest. 

“Shhhh,” he cooed, his voice velvety, and it did make you feel better. Cupping your ear with one hand, he fished out the soap and you closed your eyes again. It was absolutely _terrifying._ “It’s alright, my dear.” He whispered, and started to lather you. You held onto him, your arms around his shoulders as you thought about how stupid this entire exposure idea of yours had been moments before. _It will only be a few more moments, Maina._

You could feel his breaths were shallower as he held you in the water to him, and you wondered if he were nervous for you, or nervous about how you were doing. His hand that held you kept itself firmly against you, holding you to him securely. He quickly, but not frantically rubbed your limbs and your trunk when he was finished with the soap. 

“Hold onto me,” he held your face, and you opened your eyes to see him before he kissed you gently. When you opened your eyes next, you were on the shore, and Regis was bending over to grab your things, before he walked back to you, held you, and transported you to the crow building. 

-

Regis was lying on the bed watching you dress, and you liked it. 

You liked it a lot. 

You liked it whenever he watched you, you realized. 

He cocked his head slightly, and his eyes went sharp before relaxing again - you wondered what you’d done to make him ponder your behavior this time. Maybe you enjoyed him watching you because it wasn’t really _watching_ , it was appreciating. Appreciative observation. You were just being appreciated. You were very, very spoiled in that department.

“I’m going to pick up your new outfits today, per Orianna,” Regis smiled. You stopped lacing your shirt and looked at him.

“They’re already finished?” That surprised you. Pierre worked fast. 

“Finished enough that when I return them to Pierre your final fitting tomorrow won’t take very long.” You sighed. _Final fitting._ Right. The reason for the bath in the first place. He readjusted his head on his forearms. “So, you think _Rohellec_ is a good name for our...?”

“Child?” you looked at him pointedly. “For our _child_?”

He swallowed. You didn’t relent. 

“Will you say it?” you asked him. You liked hearing him say it. You thought he liked _saying_ it, he just became nervous whenever he was about to, then didn’t. 

It was almost as if he didn’t feel worthy of it. 

He sucked in air, then his brows lifted and came together. 

Then his mouth closed as he bit his lips. You looked at him, and he looked at you, and as he did, his eye squinted on one side, and on the same side, he started to smile. His smile grew before it released his lips from his teeth. “Our child.” 

“One more time for good luck,” you encouraged, tying your belt and sitting next to him on the mattress. He rolled his eyes. 

But then swallowed. 

“Look at me, sweetheart.” 

“I do adore that name,” he closed his eyes and when he opened them, looked directly into yours, “Should we name our child Rohellec?”

The most genuine smile spread across your mate’s face, then. He opened his mouth and inhaled, and shook his head as if he were going to say something, but didn’t. 

Instead he grabbed you by your arm and face and pulled you to his and kissed you. “I,” he kissed you again, “am a hopeless fool.” 

He let you sit up, “and I love you, Maina.” 

“Should we name them Rohellec,” you pondered aloud, your mouth set in your own mirth. 

Regis’ chest started to rise and fall. “Can you ask yourself that aloud one more time, Maina?”

“You are _hopeless_ ly excitable for a man of your age,” you told him frankly. Then grinned at him. He sat up, looking outside.

“Well,” he nodded out the window, “I can’t believe how much he’s grown in the past few days alone.”

Your heart fluttered at the fact that Dacreval was on his way home, and his breathing reacted, “you’ll love our child as much, yes?”

“Regis!”

“Right,” he said quickly, “nerves.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“I’ll be off, now,” he turned around and held your arms around his waist, kissing you one more time on the top of the head, “when I return, you’ll be able to give Dettlaff and I a showing of Orianna’s taste in fine silks,” he looked at you frankly when you gave him puppy dog eyes, “which pastry will it be?”

“Blueberry tarts,” you said definitively. 

He nodded as if this were of the utmost importance. 

“Rohellec?”

“If you like it, Regis.” 

“Will you say ‘Regis, sweetheart, let’s name our child Rohellec’ for me?” he swallowed, “Just once?”

And he called _Dettlaff_ a lush. 

“Regis, sweetheart, let’s name our child Rohellec.”

His eyes closed for long enough that you just decided to watch his hands for a while. Finally, he said, in a voice much more gravelly than you were expecting. 

“I can’t imagine life with you, anymore. Nor should I like to,” he swallowed, “I’ll have several blueberry tarts when I return.” 

He kissed you again on the forehead, and then wisped out of the window as smoke. You let yourself fall through his vapors as he went and landed on the bed. Head mostly in the clouds. You could feel Dettlaff’s energy as he and Dacreval approached the house, and drew circles on your stomach.

Today was shaping up to be _quite_ a good day.


	15. Maina and Dettlaff Arrive at a Soiree, Clumsily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt brings disconcerting news; Maina and Dettlaff get to Rioux-Cannes the night before the three day soiree begins and realize they are both a little lacking in social graces, but at least they can be lacking together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's: plot and cuteness, Dettlaff being a severe babe that we all must collectively burn, pine, and perish over.
> 
> There are two art pieces in this chapter.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The bed smelled like them, you realized, laying face down on it. 

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Your face snapped out of the blankets.

“What the?” _Who would knock?_ You got up and, checking the laces of your shirt _just in case,_ peeked your head out the bedroom door. Dettlaff's energy was nowhere to be found. Regis wouldn’t have doubled back...

_Thump thump thump thump._

You jumped, then drew yourself up, cursing for not having practiced that counterattack with Regis… _Get it together._

 _But who would knock?_ You briskly walked to the door gripped the handle and-

You were relieved to see one Geralt of Rivia at the threshold of your make-do abode. 

“Geralt!” you beamed.

“Took you long enough.” He huffed before pushing past you into the house. 

You shouldered the door shut. “Well _gee._ Nice to see you too-” 

Your voice trailed off as Geralt ducked out of the hallway into the kitchen. Footsteps approached and you turned to see the last of Dettlaff transforming back into his human form, looking he himself visibly relieved. You must have looked perplexed.

“You felt afraid, Maina,” he explained, and halfway to a smile his mouth stopped. His nose turned up before his eyes caught yours, “The witcher is here?”

-

“We have a problem,” Geralt clunked the plate down on the kitchen... _was it a counter?_ You mused at the several high tables that were placed around the water basin and covered in rolling pins, sourdough starter, and baked goods. _Eh._

“Geralt,” you asked in the doorway, Dettlaff brushing past you and leaning his butt up against one of the high tables. He looked down at the witcher stonily. Was _he_ in control right now? You felt his energy. _He’s fine._

_He’s making me calmer than I am, isn’t he?_

“I just came from a night of canvasing Beauclair with the Duchess’ finest,” Geralt said over his shoulder, then snatched a bun from the basket and put it on his dried meat covered plate. He turned around to look at you, sparing Dettlaff a side glance. 

“Damien?” you felt your face heat, “what were you doing with _them?”_

He crossed to the table and sat. 

Now Dettlaff’s energy was starting to turn, and he looked at you, raising a brow, “what kind of _problem,_ witcher?”

“They know.” 

“They _know?_ ” your brows knit at the man usurping your kitchen table, “what do you mean they _know? Know what? Who?”_

“The duchess, the knights,” Dettlaff said blankly, his face becoming dark as he stared at the witcher. 

Geralt nodded his head, “about _them_ ,” he gestured to Dettlaff, not looking at him, “don’t ask me how, but they do.”

“About them being _vampires?”_

“Pretty damn near certain. I-”

“Explain yourself,” Dettlaff interrupted; he felt discordant.

Geralt’s eyes widened at you before he replied, “uh _yeah,_ Dettlaff, I was _getting to that._ So _anyway,_ ” he eyed Dettlaff, ensuring he wouldn’t interrupt, “I was summoned by Anna Henrietta for a contract. Thought I’d probably just meet with the metal help or something, but ended up speaking with the Duchess _herself_.”

“Whoa,” you had no idea Geralt did _that_ kind of work. 

“Whoa is right,” the witcher replied, body posture stiffening slightly, “it was weird. I saw Francois too and he’s got some decent material now. I can’t get this one composition out of my head...” 

Dettlaff cleared his throat. 

“Right. She wants me to help the knights of Toussaint find some missing people. Guess they’re all young and from influential families.” He shrugged, but was obviously deep in thought.

“Didn’t seem out of the ordinary, people go missing all the time. Biggest problem was that the damned knights seemed to think they could boss me around, or _worse_ ,” he took another bite of jerky, “that we were some sort of _team,_ now. Damien being the worst of them, naturally.” His jaw flexed. “Only then, when we we’re about to head out, he shows me _this._ ”

Geralt sat forward and dug out a piece of parchment from his belt, crumpled to an absurd degree, unfolded it and slapped it on the table. 

“Remember _him?_ ”

You could already see the face atop it, but approached the table and peered at the parchment.

Manquant 

_Missing_

Auguste Dupont

vu pour la dernière fois dans les jardins du palais 

_last seen in the palace gardens_

  
  


You sighed, “Of course I do.” 

Dettlaff’s energy stirred, and he approached you, filling you with his scent and bringing you into his strong hold, “what do you mean, Maina?” 

“The body we found in Krael’ef,” you began, and Dettlaff nodded, understanding. He didn’t say anything about you lying, he simply kissed you on the forehead and held his lips there for a prolonged moment. 

_That_ made you feel shitty. 

You turned around and looked at Geralt, Dettlaff still holding you around the middle securely. 

“All cleared up?” the witcher asked humorously, and you could feel Dettlaff’s chest expand against your shoulder blades before he emitted a low, unamused growl.

“I don’t see what this has to do with Dettlaff or Regis being vampires.”

Geralt opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, then snapped it shut and swallowed. “Well, that’s more coincidental than anything and it gave me the creeps. That being said, Maina, Dettlaff, they think vampires are responsible for these people going missing.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly felt dry, “why?”

“I guess there was a murder victim who fit the profile of the missing persons, only they had been ripped to shreds, and there was,” he made quotes with his fingers, “‘evidence of blood letting’.”

Dettlaff’s breath hit you as he let out a huff, “ _Blood letting?_ ”

“Trust me, I know, it’s frustrating.” Geralt sighed, and you gathered that blood letting probably has nothing to do with vampire murder. “The thing is, Damien brought the two of you up, Dettlaff. You and Regis.”

“What did he say?” you nearly shouted it.

“He asked how they were,” the witcher frowned, “after explaining to me how they suspected vampires...in a tone that I’ve become familiar with.”

“What?” you felt cold. “If Anna Henrietta knows about Regis or Dettlaff…”

“We cannot be sure she does,” Dettlaff squeezed you reassuringly, his energy calming to ease you, “right, Geralt?”

The white haired man pursed his lips, and nodded. “I suppose it _was_ all Damien. Still, I don’t like this. You wouldn’t be able to tell if someone _let_ blood out of that mangled corpse if you tried, and bloodletting for vampires is a stretch of a misconception, even for human misinformation on monsters.”

“What are you saying?” you asked, brows furrowing.

“That either he is _that_ stupid,” he put a hand on his face, and Dettlaff’s hands started massaging your front soothingly as you heated, “No, I think he knows you and Regis are vampires and is trying to pin it on you.”

“Why?” you asked, getting even warmer. 

Geralt looked at you flatly, “people don’t like vampires, Maina.” 

“Doesn’t he want to know who actually is doing this?” your voice was getting smaller and fiercer at the same time. 

“Probably not as much as he wants to please the Duchess,” Geralt replied. 

“Humans,” Dettlaff’s voice was a rumbling. 

“So what do we do?” you asked, looking up and behind you at Dettlaff and back to Geralt, trying to not sound pleading, “how do we stop him?”

“Well,” Geralt started, and Dettlaff walked with you to the booth, sitting next to you and pulling you practically on top of his lap, “we can find out who or what is causing these disappearances before they find anything to pin on you.”

You swallowed, and Dettlaff’s large hands actually _did_ bring you up onto his lap. He set a sleeping Dacreval in his hands and wrapped them around you, afterwards. You cocked your head at your child, perfectly asleep in father’s giant palm. _Pocket son._

“Okay,” you replied, not feeling incredibly optimistic, “how?”

“What if it is this knight?” Dettlaff asked. “Why do we not look into his whereabouts and dealings?”

From the edge in his tone, you thought he would probably end up killing Damien on sight. 

“Not a bad idea,” Geralt nodded approvingly, leaning forward and absentmindedly petting Dacreval in Dettlaff’s hands that were sitting atop your belly. You flinched, but Dettlaff was in thought and uncaring about the witcher’s advances. You looked back at him, then down at your son in his hands, being pet by Geralt, then back to Dettlaff.

_What the hell is my life, anymore?_

The witcher sat back, still thinking. “We also need to talk to Yennefer about what else she found on Auguste’s body, and if it was chicken pebbles who-”

“ _Please_ stop calling it that.”

“-actually did the killing or what. I have a feeling that they, the missing people, _all_ ended up in that world between worlds whatever, if I had to guess, and since Yennefer is the leading authority on what goes on there, well.”

Dettlaff huffed unhappily, and you frowned. 

“So you think they’re _all_ dead?”

Geralt raised a brow at you. 

“Remember how I felt about Jean-Luc the vineyard worker?” 

Your frown deepened, “yes.” Then you felt better, “but you were _wrong_.” 

“Will you shut up?”

Another growl emanated from Dettlaff, “watch it, witcher.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes, fighting a smile. Then he got serious.

“It’s probably best Regis doesn’t go anywhere too public any time soon. For whatever reason, all of this seems more aimed at him,” he squinted, thinking, “Though maybe I’m just more sentimental when it comes to him.”

You were surprised when Dettlaff’s energy dipped and you gathered he was _hurt._ You bit your lip. Gods, you loved him. 

“He’s not going to like that,” you sighed, calming down, “there’s the outing this weekend.”  
“I know,” Geralt nodded to Dacreval. “Looks like I’ll have two vampires to watch...though I was looking forward to just time for Val and I.”  
The frown on the witcher’s face made your heart pang.

“But it’s for the best,” Geralt said, sitting back, as if anyone but him were still pondering this, “Regis is much more volatile than Dettlaff right now,” he nearly barked it out as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying, “so, y’know. Birds and stones.”

~*~

Beaulair, from the Mere-Lachaiselongue cemetery

~*~

-

-

Mount Gorgon had been impressive in the morning light. You set out shortly after rising from bed, albeit you stayed in bed, _unrisen,_ for quite a little bit of time due to a very persuasive and morning-lazy dark haired partner of yours. You were convinced that if Dettlaff could choose to stay in a prone position, marking you with his scent while you were comfortable, naked and on top of him for a year, he would. That is to say you set out midday, and the sun was now waning in the sky, _and_ your ass was starting to hurt. Traveling by way of smoke sure made a person soft. If it weren’t for the entire _needing to appear extra human and ordinary_ ruse, you wouldn’t have needed to ride the entire way to the Rioux-Cannes. 

You pat Mers on his shoulders to let him know he was doing a fine job, and felt Dettlaff’s energy flow over to you where he sat atop Roach, nearly drowning her. _That_ had been an interesting trade. Geralt provided Dettlaff a pacifying agent for the mare so that her...weariness for your vampire wouldn’t become too obvious at any point in the weekend. 

Regis had been more upset than you’d been expecting but also in a much different _way_ than you’d been expecting. He seemed as weary of the knights as Roach was her vampiric rider. 

Then you had had _Yennefer_ and her lesson to deal with. Which was fine, but she was convinced the situation was of impending doom and that irked you. What also irked you was that there was nothing out of the ordinary about Auguste’s body that she could report. 

Other than one big let: He wasn’t bleeding from the eyes, mouth, or any other facial orifice. Which meant that he was alive when he arrived in Krael’ef.

Which meant he was brought to Krael’ef intentionally. 

You had no idea what to make of this news, and didn’t really know how to efficiently _search_ or summon in Krael’ef no matter how much power you had there. Fortunately, you’d also managed to successfully perform your counter attack that lesson. 

_The look on Yennefer’s face…_

*

“You _are_ aware that you have to concentrate while performing this maneuver?” The sorceress voice was crass, one of her hips bearing her full weight while the other reflected her bored intonation. 

Sweating and out of breath, you stood, focusing on her movement, and planted your right foot forward, opening yourself up to use her attack’s energy and strike it back. You faced your palms forward, elbows bent, waiting. 

She pounced - sparks shooting from her fingertips in dancing white flames and you caught it, palm outturned and unmoving, letting it ricochet off and into your other hand that pushed it forward and shot it back at her. 

Yennefer stepped to the side lazily and let it pass. 

Her face was impressed, though she hid it well. 

“So you _are_ aware,” she gave you a tight smile, before letting the same hip drop, “Again.”

*

You wondered what it would be like if she actually used a dangerous spell on you. Would you be able to keep your cool? 

You _were_ excited to see Orianna and Pierre again. The last fitting was a breath of fresh air and you laughed as hard with them as you normally do with Dettlaff getting on Regis’ nerves in the morning. The song of a finch brought you back to the beautiful Toussaint countryside, and Dettlaff, looking uncomfortable. He’d walked the entire way up until a few miles ago, when the two of you thought he should start pretending to be human _better._ He sensed your gaze and looked at you, light blue eyes twinkling. 

“Excited to wear your doublet?” you mused, having fun teasing him. 

His nostrils flared, and his eyes grew sharp.

“Not as excited as you will be when you _see me in it,_ my darling.” 

Your mouth fell open, choking. Dettlaff flashed you his sharp teeth and it felt like your heart amongst other things were going to implode. Were either you or Dettlaff responsible enough alone together to make it through this weekend?

Dettlaff’s face went back to one of being uncomfortable, and you were almost _glad_ for it, because your throat had gone completely dry and if Mers didn’t have eyes of his own, you could have steered him into a tree. 

“Me-nah,” Dettlaff sang, and you turned around again to see his handsome chest going under his coat, “are you excited for your _gowns?”_

The large vampire brought Roach up beside you. 

“I’m guessing you are,” you stated plainly. 

Dettlaff’s energy froze, “what’s wrong?”

“Oh!” you looked at him, his face suddenly worried. Worried that he had upset you. Gods, your chest was burning. “I’m fine, I just...yeah. I think I’m excited for them.” 

“What is it, Maina?” His voice was deep, and beautiful, and coated in concern. 

“Are fingerless gloves customary in wearing doublets?” your heart hurt. 

Dettlaff’s nostrils flared, and for a moment he was distracted by the smell of you before he gave you a knowing look, “I did have some made for the occasion.”

“I hate humans.”

Dettlaff’s lips pulled up in a smile, “other than you, my darling, so do I.”

His voice went chilling, and you shivered. He pulled Roach closer, still taller than you where he sat on the shorter horse, and reached out his long, winglike fingers and you took them. 

“Humans are not the only bigoted and cruel species, Maina,” he squeezed your hand, “I love you.”

A smile was tugging on his lips. 

“And I apologize for scaring you.” 

You smacked his hand, causing him to chuckle.

“You did not scare me!” you lied. He kind of did sometimes. When you looked at him he winked at you, his chest broadening, his chin up slightly. He was proud of having made you laugh, having made you happy. 

“Since when did you become so charismatic?” you chided. 

“It is much easier when you are able to sense everything the person is feeling,” his chest rose and fell like the tide, dreamily, “and when you love them.” 

“Alright, that’s enough,” you replied, biting your lip, “you’re making me blush.” 

He was making you _a lot of things_ at the moment. 

“Dettlaff?”

His eyes closed and his lip twitched. His name. Right.

“Yes, my Maina?”

“How close are we?”

“It’s over the hill after next.” 

Your head jut back at that response. You hadn’t expected him to be _that_ specific. The sun was glaring as you squinted up the sloping green hill. 

“Maina?”

“Yes?” you turned back to him.

“Did you mind it when I,” his jaw tensed, “earlier, when,”

“When you engulfed me in red and black smoke without warning?”

“After that, when I did warn you,” he blushed. 

“I loved it.” 

A sharp tooth bit his lip, and he smiled. “Good.”

As you rounded the hill, music started to travel down from the next. It was quite an increase in altitude, you noticed, and thanked Regis for packing a bag full of remedies should you need them. The entire ride was made more difficult by the fact that your belly had grown even more in the past few _days_ . It was still a small bump more than a _large_ bump, but it made you relieve yourself quite a bit more often. As you began ascending the final hill, Dettlaff pushed Roach even closer to Mers, forgetting to mask his protective tendencies. 

You didn’t mind. 

“We are doing this because you will enjoy it.” He said aloud. 

“Uh,” you cocked your head at him, “I know.”

“I’m only reminding myself,” he breathed, looking nervously at the crowd. Or was it contemptuously? You’d never been more glad you weren’t a crowd in your life, is all you knew. You forgot how much he loathed them. The last time you were staying in a large crowd of people a newly born Dacreval was with you, and that son of yours could distract Dettlaff from any woe. 

“We’re also here to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity, right?” you encouraged, and he pursed his lips. “These _are_ influential families of Toussaint, after all.” 

His eyebrows furrowed together _tightly,_ _disapprovingly_ and he looked to you, nearly confused. 

“I would be here if it were only so that you could enjoy it, Maina,” he said flatly, his face beginning to soften, “and it is the only reason that makes me happy.” 

He rolled his eyes and his jaw set, “so let’s go make you happy.”

“And look for murderers,” you squeezed Mers’ sides. 

Dettlaff chuckled, nodding, “... _and_ look for murderers.”

He pushed Roach to a canter behind you. 

When you got the top of the hill you saw that the crowd of people was indeed more a _line_ of people, leading up to what looked like a gate carved out of white wood. Workers were already lighting lanterns hanging off of the arched entrance. Beyond were trees, four or five old buildings that created a near circle and were painted in carnivale scenes. Nestled to the last and furthest building was a stage with a heavy red curtain, all laid in a forest. 

You dismounted Mers, and Dettlaff rather clumsily from Roach. A man approached, then, with a humorously lengthed scroll in his hands. 

“Excuse me,” his nose sat further up on his face than most, and his mustache sharply ran down his lips, "may I have your name?" His eyes flickered to your hair and you smiled, wondering if Orianna had given any instruction to watch for redheads with _big, looming_ and altogether dangerous-looking company. 

...and dangerous that company of yours _did become_. You felt Dettlaff’s energy constrict and silently hoped that the amount of hormone suppressant you brought would last. It was enough to drown a whale, so you certainly hoped it would be enough. 

The man raised his eyebrows and you very loudly gasped, “Maina!” 

His brows raised _more._ You licked your lips. _Fuck. Alright. Here it goes._

“Maina Terzieff-Godefroy van der Eretein,” you were fairly certain that translated to Maina Terzieff Godefroy _hailing from_ Eretein so technically it wasn’t so much that you had many names, just that you were thorough in your explanation…

Dettlaff put his hand on your shoulder, brought you to his body and whispered in your ear, “relax, my Maina.” 

_Easy for_ him _to say,_ you thought, he _loved_ hearing you say his last name with yours. 

The man with the mustache smiled, “and you are Dettlaff van der Eretein?”

Dettlaff’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded. 

The man nearly _stabbed_ the scroll with his quill. 

“Brilliant!” his legs sucked together - his heels clicking from it. “Sean-Paul!” He turned around, “Missus Maina Eretein and Dettlaff Eretein have arrived!” 

Dettlaff’s hand got tighter around your shoulder and you had to try to remove it before he noticed. 

“I am so sorry,” he blurted. 

The two of you were not great at this. 

You started laughing, and he blushed, biting his lip once more in an attempt to stifle his own. 

Just then several men carrying a gold plated palanquin stopped and knelt in front of you. You peered up at Dettlaff just as he peered down at you, looking alarmed all over again. 

The grounds were _huge_ , it turned out. The hill was more of a flat area in the beginning slope of Mount Gorgon, you realized, and it was heavily forested with beautiful old trees. The canopies of which were lit up, reflecting the warm light rising from beneath as the navy of the sky began turning black. Some had lanterns in them, which worried you as much as pleased you, aesthetically speaking. 

Dettlaff put his arm around you and slid you up to his person snuggly, breathing in your hair and sighing. The man with the mustache went about his tour across from you. 

“Meals for grandees such as yourselves will be served in the north quarter. In the carnivale square evening entertainment ranging from nightly performances of…”

Finally the palanquin stopped and lowered so that the two- three- of you could get out. You were starting to wonder how long this touring mustache man was going to hang around and whether or not his _scroll_ duties were going to call him back to the other side of the grounds any time soon…

“Maina! Dettlaff!” you pivoted on your heel to see Orianna dressed in a gorgeous, glimmering turquoise number and immediately felt like you should bathe. 

“Orianna!” You smiled, genuinely excited to see her. Dettlaff slung yours and his bags over your shoulder, which Orianna cocked her head at. 

“Suppressant,” you whispered. 

“Ahh,” she tilted her head up, smiling at Dettlaff and winked at him. He grunted, and you tried not to giggle. She flattened her skirts, “How was the ride?” 

She gave a tight smile and a small wave at the mustached man, who bowed and left immediately. You were surprised when the palanquin was being carried in a different direction. 

“Oh, it was fine,” you replied, still staring at the portable, golden room. You shook your head out of it and followed Orianna, who was walking further into the forest along a candlelit path. “How is all of this so far?”

“My god, you seem uptight,” she said, looking amused. Then her brows tensed, and you were touched that in her appraising you found genuine concern on her face, “Are you certain everything is alright, Maina?”

She glanced at Dettlaff. 

“Well, we’ve had _knight_ issues,” you shrugged not wanting to say _every_ thing aloud in the forest, exactly, “Geralt thinks Damien de la Tour knows... _something_ , about Regis and Dettlaff. Eventually we’re going to have to try to figure out why that is.”

Orianna’s face went a ghostly pale, and she slowed to a stop under a tree. “He’s staying here,” she stated, eyes lost in thought, “last minute and unexpectedly, his letter came. Arriving tomorrow. Staying the weekend. It’s been bothering me all night...the oddity of the timing, at least. Ooooh, _knights._ ” She shook her head, “he’ll be on the opposite side of the grounds from you. I can put guards of my own around your tent, to deal with things civilly if he can’t.” 

Your brows rose, and she noted it. 

“We protect our own, Maina.” 

“Where is our tent, Orianna?” Dettlaff asked, his voice monotone. Orianna snorted. 

“Oh you’re a good lot of fun, aren’t you?” she chided him, rolling her eyes and smiling at you. “Well, it’s a sort of tent. Follow me.” 

She turned left down a veering, smaller candlelit path, the trees growing older, until you saw a large, extravagant ruby red tent, with green, gold, orange, and royal blue embroidery. It looked like one of those fancy rugs you had at your estate, but nicer. It was _giant._ She approached it and drew the curtain for the door, and you followed her in. 

  
“As promised, your new wardrobe is here,” she gestured to mannequins in your and Dettlaff’s fully improved regalia and _winked_ again. "Now, I'm going to want to know more about this issue with the local authorities, as a vampire myself."

You shrugged, looking at Dettlaff, who had come to stand by you. To your surprise, he began explaining. 

-

After you were finished giving Orianna the details (you took over for Dettlaff shortly after he began, once he started to look _physically_ in pain from it) and omitting the Krael'ef whatnot as best you could, she thought for a good while, looking unhappy. "This can't be good."

She rubbed her temples.

"I know," you sighed, feeling bad about the entire thing. Feeling bad for being human, almost.

"Well," she stood, "there's not much that can be done tonight yet about it, is there? For now, I'll leave you two to settle in, since we have three busy days made busier still ahead of us. But, I should tell you that when it comes to protecting our identities,” her eyes darted to Dettlaff as she walked up to you, “I would do a great many criminal things. Especially to _knights._ ”

You saw a small smile line Dettlaff's lips as Orianna walked towards the door. “Your server is a woman by the name of Millie - if you pull that line she will come. Mostly for bath water and palanquin runners. Goodnight, you two. Get some rest because _gods_ , do you look dreadful.”

When she let the curtain slide shut, Dettlaff set down the bags with a thud and walked over to the huge, perfectly round and canopied bed, set on a platform in the furthest part of the tent, and flopped face down on it. “Maina, darling.”

You giggled, tired yourself, and started walking over to him, feeling your feet drag, “have you seen this wood, Dettlaff?” you asked, eyes scanning the floor as you were too tired or lazy to lift your skull. 

“I suppose that I had missed it,” he replied in his pillow, “is that what's taking you so long?”

You hopped onto the bed next to him, and he rolled, bringing you to his person once again. “Is the knight going to ruin your good time?” his gentle eyes were scanning your expression. 

“No,” you lied. “...Maybe.”

The look on Dettlaff’s face made you sincerely fear for Damien’s life. 

“Honey,” you began, he closed his eyes. 

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” you replied, “but I’m also exhausted.”

“Hmm,” he kissed the side of your face, opening his lips as if he were about to nibble you, but stopped short, “then I will get food and bring it here for you.”

Dettlaff had brought back a laughably thorough variety of food for you and him to try. He explained to you why he had chosen what he had chosen, giving you the history of some dishes, while curiously examining others. You both devoured your portions all while in bed (an act that Regis was starkly against). It was kind of fascinating, Dettlaff's descriptions and insight. Finally, dead tired from hormones or elaborate talking mustaches, he pulled you on top of him and you let his breathing lull you to sleep. 


	16. Softly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of the soiree Dettlaff and Maina practice early in the morning, Pierre and Orianna visit, they walk around the event and Dettlaff wants Maina to try something new. They try it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw's at the end cough cough
> 
> this pic of Dettlaff is a decent chapter summary, look at that beautiful skin of his!
> 
> https://64.media.tumblr.com/93c15c2a82bb7c9c88a2fce8a233b5aa/1c0c410c4ad732e0-1d/s500x750/4258b58adbf904e8277e8a3ef9d10244d99e8f7f.png

You wiped the first bead of liquid from your brow, thinking about how you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t get sweaty. _That_ brought to mind the realization that you didn’t really like the name _Millie_ \- the name of the woman who had filled your tub earlier that morning _._ It was too close to Amilie. It didn’t _sound_ like Amilie perse, but it brought her to mind. There was some part of you that was at ends with that, and now you also felt bad for making Millie possibly fill a tub in vain while disliking her name. There was a possibility this was your hormones talking, but...

Dettlaff’s claws broke your thoughts, and you deflected his blow back to him. His back end hit the ground and he looked up at you with a proud smile. _Gods,_ he looked cute landing on his bum. You tried to hide your own grin as you waited for him to begin getting up. Then you pounced. 

“Mai- _na_ ,” the last bit of your name escaped him in a grunt caused by the collision of his butt and the ground. A bubble of laughter began swelling in you and he wrapped his hands around your body, laying backwards for a moment on the forest floor, your tent all but disappeared behind the thick underbrush of the woods. 

“What?” you asked, giggling.

Dettlaff’s eyes shone like the dewy morning grass as they watched you, “we should go back before others wake. Detecting onlookers is difficult,” his chest expanded beneath yours, “when watching you.”

Before you could protest, Dettlaff picked you up under the armpits and brought the two of you to a standing position, holding you an extra second to ensure that you were steady. “Alright, alright,” you agreed, “last one.”

Admittedly, you were really enjoying this new counterattack. 

You watched Dettlaff’s black curly hair bounce about his ears as he walked back to his place and pivoted to you. Your belly turned, “Ready?”

“Are you _sure_ the claws are necessary, Maina?” he rumbled dubiously for the fiftieth time.

“Yes,” you grinned, falling into your stance, “they help me focus.”

“You hardly seemed focused before,” Dettlaff’s face was stuck between a loving amusement and concern, “no more falling on me.” His eyes went to your midsection, and softened.

“Consider it the last pounce of the pregnancy,” you brought your hand up, “you just looked too good to _not_ jump on…”

The vampire’s nostrils flared, pupil’s widening and it caused the hairs on your neck to rise. He looked too surprised to say anything, and his energy smoldered. Your face felt like it had turned the color of a ripe tomato. _Trying to be confidently sexy is obviously going to have to be an ongoing effort..._

Dettlaff sprang, and as his claws came you caught them, again no harm coming to you. Only allowing the energy of his blow to travel through you, in the split second you felt that it was too much force, as you began pushing your hand forward stopped midway. Your body was telling you it was dangerous, you thought, and at Dettlaff’s shocked expression you agreed. You swung your hand up, sending a forceful gust rippling through the shaken canopy. Leaves began gently falling from their places. Breathless, you stared up at the bright turquoise sky beyond the trees. The gust you’d sent...did it look _cloudy?_

A large, less clawed hand went to your cheek, and Dettlaff brought you in to hug him.

Then a voice boomed.

“I have _always_ wanted to know a sorceress I like!” 

Pierre was standing between two very large trees coming from the direction of your tent, holding a mound of fabric. You felt Dettlaff’s body begin to tighten, and his energy went completely still before the tailor’s face brightened even _further_. Neither of you corrected him.

“How long have you been here?” Dettlaff asked, letting his arms fall.

Pierre suddenly looked like his patience for commanding true higher vampires was already at zero for the day, and the sun only just finished breaking. You bit your lip, failing to suppress your amusement. 

“Since the fireworks began,” he gestured to you, smiling. “Orianna sent me to help with dressing,” he rolled his eyes, “when I heard noises from behind your tent I feared malevolence.”

Dettlaff’s energy relaxed, and he nodded.

The three of you were walking back to the tent when Dettlaff let Pierre walk ahead. “Did the sorceress have an explanation for your glowing?” his deep voice was nearly a whisper.

“No, it doesn’t make sense that I would glow in the first place, but even when it _isn’t_ storming?” You eyed Pierre, not wanting to explain Krael’ef to him if he overheard, “let’s talk about this later.”

“...horrible of that big bald brute,” the Katakan was still complaining about Damien when you jogged back up to him.

“Orianna told you?” you asked and he nodded indignantly. 

“Of course!” he hopped over a log with ease, lifting the loose fabric he held as he did, and into the groomed clearing around your tent. The redness of it in the Toussaint sun made you squint.

“You need sunglasses,” Pierre observed as he lifted the canvas door, his diamonds glaring more than the tent. You bounded up next to him.

“I’m going to need them for more reasons than one if I can’t control my external _radiance…_ ”

Pierre snorted, and you thought it was because the subject of _hiding_ was old hat to him. He didn’t wait for Dettlaff when he followed you inside. 

There was a basket of baked goods on the table next to your wardrobe, and it made you think of Regis. “Pierre,” you combed through them, choosing a cinnamon muffin, “did you bring these?”

“It was probably Millie,” he replied, clearing the table next to you, “they do _not_ serve breakfast the first day. A little detail I learned late last time.” He helped himself to a muffin as well.

After both of you took approximately _one_ bite of your muffins, Pierre ushered you to a chair in front of a mirror. Suddenly you became quite anxious that the tailor aso knew how to _do hair and makeup._ .. _or was it excitement?_ “Do you always help in the getting _dressed_ part?” 

He looked around at the rug covered tent before walking over and putting his hands on your shoulders, “no, not even remotely,” his lips pushed together, “ _but_ …”

You caught your reflection in the mirror and you both started laughing, “point taken.”

Pierre gestured to the tent’s small built-in fitting room and ordered you to dress _to your ability,_ which normally would put you off, but not only did he say it very sweetly, it just made you want to laugh again more than anything because he was very much _correct._ Figuring out which layers goes on when was akin to multiple forks at a table. Not that you’d ever experienced such a thing, but the silverware drawer at Orianna’s certainly made you nervous just by looking at it.

The fabric you had chosen for the first dress was a light, sky blue. At the time you wanted a royal blue, but neither Pierre nor Orianna would let you get away with wearing something so dark for day activities. It made you wonder why Pierre had chosen such a hodgepodge of backup fabric to bring with him, but you chopped it up to artistic eccentricism. Dettlaff had come in part way through you being accoutremented, and was silently regarding you the entire time you and Pierre chatted. Each glance that caught him, his light grey-blue eyes, not dissimilar to the color of your dress, were softly rested on you. 

After Pierre had finished your hair, and you your muffin and Dettlaff had finished brewing Fia and his suppressant (which you had secretly and internally been referring to as Gentlemen Juice) the two of you switched places, wherein Dettlaff reluctantly walked up to the chair and sat. With a huff. 

You smiled widely at him, and his eyes twinkled at you, “I like this dress better than the one Regis sewed for you.” 

Was he actually _making a joke_ in front of other people?

Pierre raised his brows, taking the praise and nodded approvingly at Dettlaff. 

“You didn’t see the one Regis made...” you trailed off turning around and bounding for the bed. What a day! It was pretty early to forecast, but this _could_ be _quite_ a day. The sun was out, you managed to not drench yourself in sweat before getting dressed _and_ convinced Dettlaff to attack you in practice...or what he desperately _pretended_ was attacking you, you were comfortable in the dress _and_ it was beautiful. You eyed Dettlaff, who was already peering at you out of the corner of his vision. 

His fangs began peeking out behind his lips. 

_Maybe I should go check on Dacre and Regis._ Dettlaff’s eyes narrowed at the look on your face, or some minute change in your body. You could feel your face heat. Geralt was with them, _they’ll be fine_. _He’s watching them._ Making sure Regis stays calm and Val is happy. You left breast milk, right? _Yes._ _They’re fine._

Dettlaff’s lips were as narrow as his eyes, now, “Maina?”

You looked at Pierre, wondering how you would explain quickly visiting Dacreval to him without bringing up anything that would make you sound crazy. Oh. He thought you were a sorceress, now. It’ll be fine. 

“Maina.” In one word, Dettlaff was already talking you down from whatever plan he realized you were hatching.

“I was thinking of going to check on Dacre and Regis,” you fessed. “Very quickly.” 

Dettlaff’s energy stalled, its warmth subsiding, and his eyes flickered halfway to Pierre.

You wished you could remind him that your friend now thought you were a sorceress. _But what if Pierre loves portals or something?_ _You can’t actually summon one._ Dettlaff’s energy was not calming, and you realized you didn’t want to stress him out more than he probably already was. _No._ You absolutely didn’t want that. _Maina, you should be_ comforting _him. Look at how awkward he is at this._

You watched Dettlaff smack Pierre’s advancing hand away from his shoulder and in the same breath apologize for it. 

_Gods._

“You know what,” you squeaked, as Pierre bent over and grabbed his measuring tape from the floor rug. Dettlaff looked at you, unease coloring his face, “I’ll go later.” The dark haired vampire’s shoulders relaxed, and you felt him calm. “Atentv man rilis, vele.” _Try to stay relaxed, honey._

“Maina!” Pierre was looking at you taken aback, “Oros Gharasham os?” _You speak our language?_

“Cim,” _Some,_ you replied, laughing. He looked happy enough to dance. 

“Dettlaff,” Pierre shooed him to go put on his doublet, “ka facuk tevias sotra?” _How were you blessed with such a savior?_

Dettlaff looked at him stony faced before walking towards the canvas dress-room. “Cenchun ap o tuthios cesk thie.” _I wonder each day._

Your face heated, and you decided to stare at the bread basket. 

“So,” you started, before realizing that Pierre was already coming to sit next to you. When he did, his eyes got wide and he laid back, letting his upper half hit the mattress.

“Eia! Rikes rini, mi amapen,” _Oh! Of the richest royalty, I like this bed!_ He was running his clawed, multi ringed fingers up and down the fabric in utter delight as if making a snowman. 

“Isn’t it?” you flopped down adjacent to him, joyed at how comfortable he was and ran your hands over the covers as well, on the verge of laughing. Staring at the pitch of the tents ceiling. You heard Pierre chortle in a moment of self awareness, and you both started to giggle. Dettlaff came out of the fitting room and Pierre immediately sat up.

“Presta?” _Ready?_ He asked your mate. It seemed like he was enjoying speaking vampiric.

“Qivi.” _As you will._ Dettlaff’s low voice came quietly, and you went to your elbows to see him looking down over his own body, his hands supinating and pronating to get a better look at his sleeves. He was dressed in a garment the same style as your dress, only it was a deep royal blue, and you side eyed Pierre. 

“What?” he smiled, “I could not have you looking something like twins!” 

You remembered the Geralt uniform incident and nodded, unable to take your eyes off Dettlaff in his fancy dress clothes. He hardly looked like himself. Well, no. He _looked_ like himself, but... _didn’t_ at the same time. 

“Now your hair?” Pierre was already down by Dettlaff again and you saw his entire body stiffen as the tailor-turned-beautician raised his comb, enjoying himself maybe a little _too_ much. “So, this knight is interested in the missing Auguste Dupuis? He barely seems signifi-”

“Harev sake,” Orianna’s head popped into the tent a second before she entered the rest of the way. You were the only one of the three that jumped from it. “For the last time, it’s Auguste _Dupont,_ Pierre. _Pont_ as in _bridge,_ not _puis_ as in _well._ ” 

“Who cares?” Pierre said, rolling his eyes flippantly, but blushing.

“The rich,” Orianna replied before giving you a wink and a smile. “I’m sorry Pierre, but I have to steal you away for the time being.”

Pierre frowned down at Dettlaff’s thick, curly mane. In a surprisingly surly tone, as if speaking to the individual hairs themselves, replied, “it’s just as well. They weren’t cooperating with me as it _were.”_

“Oh, give it a rest, Pierre. He looks fine.” Oranna waved her hand dismissively, “I’ll see you two at dinner?” 

“Or just earlier,” Pierre looked at you hopefully.

“Actually, that’s when de la Tour is set to arrive.” You were really out of your element at how Orianna actually enjoyed _managing_ these events. “In which case we _can_ meet up before _that_ and I can show you where he’s residing. Before the sun begins to set we can meet at the stage, Dettlaff, you can sense, yes?” 

Your mate looked unamused as he rose from his chair. 

“Question,” Pierre held up a clawed finger, his white gold bracelet glistening, “may we get rid of the knight?”

“I would rather like to murder him myself,” Orianna said, half to herself. 

“Hm,” Dettlaff hummed as if he were _mulling it over._

“What? No!” you piped up, walking towards the three of them, “We can’t do anything that will upset the Duchess before Regis’ and Dettlaff’s names are cleared. I think Geralt is right, Damien is looking to please the Duchess more than try to find the actual killer...so…”

“So just pin it on someone?” Orianna was giving you an absolutely _scandalous_ look. It was as if one of her brows was _challenging_ you. Or at least your moral compass. 

...and she was right. 

“Okay, so, _no,_ but…”

“There are no leads, yes?” Pierre frowned, “and I did not know they were murdered?”

“Auguste at least is,” you replied, “and no, we don’t really have any leads. Though we haven’t actually combed the palace gardens ourselves, _Geralt_ has, but…”

“So we can get _rid_ of him?” Pierre’s brows were bouncing up and down in a way that would make you think vindictive knight-murder was his favorite hobby. You suppose at some point in his life it could have been. Probably wouldn’t be the first.

“I don’t think it’s a great idea,” you repeated. 

“Why?” Pierre sounded almost pouty. 

“We should listen to Maina,” Dettlaff’s deep vibrato filled the tent as he spoke. 

“Excuse me for this,” Orianna rested her hand on your forearm apologetically before removing it and looking to Dettlaff, “and _why_ is that?”

Dettlaff’s mouth opened and he paused, looking dangerously close to having just answered ‘because _’_ , before his brow tensed, his eyes narrowed, and he closed his mouth shut with a _clicking_ of his sharp teeth. 

He looked like he could killer her. 

Orianna was smirking, “my _goodness,_ Maina. You’ve done absolutely marvelous work with your vampires.” She turned towards the door, beginning to laugh in some sort of awe as she opened it, “We won’t kill the knight, but I hope I don’t have to say I told you so anytime in the near future.” 

“Next time!” Pierre gathered his fabrics, and turned towards the two of you, smiling, looking giddy as ever, “I’ll see you before we feast!”

-

Dettlaff had been incredibly good _all_ day at not picking you up (he only did _once_ ), even when you felt his energy dip and become nervous, or frazzled, or on _fire_ at one point when a strapping, _incredibly young_ circus performer wouldn’t leave you be and you feared his soiree juggling would be his last. Until you were more or less certain Dettlaff had put the man to sleep somehow, and you’d calmed Dettlaff down. 

As the day continued and you both needed a break from the crowd and the falcon squawking, you waltzed into the field and sat on a complimentary picnicking blanket. Dettlaff rested his head on your bosom as you looked up at the clouds, His energy filling you with content and ease. Ebbing and flowing through you like a great, calming wave. You inhaled, feeling his half combed hair in your fingers, you began scratching the roundness of his scalp. 

“I miss them,” he said aloud, his hand on your side. You smiled. 

“I miss them, too.” 

“What do you think they’re doing right now?” Dettlaff mused. 

“ _Hmmm_ ,” you thought, “Dacre is playing hide and seek with Geralt, and Regis is reading up on new exciting lubricants for he, you and I to try.”

Dettlaff laughed. “You told him to carry them around with him?”

“Was I _right_ or was I _right?_ They’re for me, too. In case you _forgot._ ”

Dettlaff’s laugh was infectious, and he brought his dark, five o’clock shadowed mouth to your cheek and exhaled in spurts, kissing you between your ear and your cheek. The musk of his warm breath was intoxicating, the current of his energy soothing. You swallowed. “Mmmm.”

“What do you think they’re doing?” 

“Our son is collecting crickets to show to us,” he kissed you again, his nose drawing circles on your skin, “and Regis is trying to think of ways he can tell me he wants me.” 

Your heartbeat quickened. You indeed knew Regis wanted that. 

“Do you want that?” you asked. Dettlaff had an incredible butt, not that if he didn’t Regis wouldn’t still want to fuck him. He breathed on your skin, but it was lacking in the confidence it had earlier, “have you seen some of Regis’ recent...work?”

You stopped. “What do you mean?”

Dettlaff stilled, and you could only feel his soft breath on your cheek. You listened to it, his heartbeat becoming audible. “I, uhm.”

“Dettlaff?”

“Stupid,” he whispered, “it’s nothing.”

“No it isn’t.”

“I can’t think of how to ask it, and I don’t know why I want it.”

You felt your own breathing hitch. “Can you show me?”

He swallowed, “how much time do we have before _before_ dinner?”

“Forever, judging by how this day is going so far.”

Dettlaff’s lips brushed your ear, and he whispered, “hold onto me.”

  
  


You were in the tent, standing smack dab in the middle of the floor. It obviously had taken you a second or two to come around, because Dettlaff was already standing with his shirt half unbuttoned staring down at one of the bags. 

The corner of your mouth was inching upwards. 

“You brought this ‘work’ with you?” you asked. He shrugged. 

His broad chest was peaking out of his doublet more with each breath. It was a very good look. “Maina,” 

“Yes?”

“Do you like,” he bit his lower lip, “do you enjoy…”  
“Dettlaff,” you walked over to him and put your hands on either side of his face, “tell me.” 

His eyes were worried until suddenly, they weren’t. His energy calmed completely. He closed his eyes and brought his large hand out from behind his back. You looked down at it, and... _what the fuck is that?_ You stared at it. It appeared to be a leather...like a leather bridle or harness of some sort. With what looked like something you could only describe as a leather dick. _Oh my god._

Your eyes got wide, and your throat was suddenly quite dry. _Oh my god._ You looked at Dettlaff, just, at how very large he was for starters. You looked into his eyes, which were pensive, timid, fearful even. You looked back down at the leather strappy contraption, and pointed at yourself, just to verify that was his intention. You watched as Dettlaff’s large, bristled adam’s apple dipped and he nodded. Sucking his lower lip beneath his upper teeth. 

“You want me to fuck you, Dettlaff?” you asked, putting his cheek in your palm, feeling yourself inhale. _Holy shit did that feel nice to ask._

He nodded, he still had that fucking lip sucked in between his teeth. Holy shit. _Holy shit._ “Okay, undress.”

“What?” he asked, eyes going wide. 

“Actually unbutton this,” you reached back towards the bottom of your neck and got it yourself. “Never mind.” 

Dettlaff was removing his clothes, looking towards the door of the tent. He walked over to it and tied the bottoms and each side of the door to and up the canvas walls so no one could mosey on in. By the time he got back to where you were standing, you were completely naked, skin prickling and you weren’t certain if it was because of the sudden chill you felt in the air, or your own excitement. Dettlaff came to you and knelt, the leather dick portion now on the ground, he started doing up the straps, tightening it around your waist with a forceful tug that pulled you into him. You held his face in your hands, running one through his hair and bent your upper half to kiss him. His arms were obviously doing something behind you before his hands were taut on your sides. He moaned in your mouth. 

“Fuck, Maina,” his deep voice was crackling, “I might have to fuck you a little first.” 

Without warning he picked you up and, suspending you in the air, kissed you again, “may I?” he asked. 

You felt your hard nipples caress his chest, “please.” 

He pulled you down onto his cock and you released a noise you didn’t know you had in you, rolling your hips against him. “Holy shit,” you scratched at his muscular back, taking Dettlaff’s width as he thrust into you his full length and you moaned, voice wavering and on the verge of cracking the further he went. 

“Maina,” he kissed your neck, his soft tongue caressing it as his dick’s head pushed you to your limits inside.

“Fuck, Dettlaff,” you breathed pushing yourself up against his chest as much as you could. 

“Are you going to fuck me, Maina?” he asked coyly, pulling himself out just slightly before thrusting his full length in once more. It was almost painful, but it felt so good as well. 

His one hand was firmly on your ass, his claws digging into it, his other ran up to your bosom, and he began playing with your nipples. He thrust again. 

“Yes, Dettlaff,” you replied, and his hand went to your clitoris, rubbing you there faster and faster, keeping you perched tightly on his thick, long member where he stood all the while. _“ah_ oh _,_ don’t," you inhaled, "stop.” 

Dettlaff bucked into you and you both groaned pitchily. Taking his thick neck in your hands, you kissed him, and Dettlaff kissed back, open mouthed jaw slacking. He bucked again and you yapped at each others mouths sloppily, until he stilled. His face contorting, his grip on your ass tightening. He didn’t stop his his two large first fingers from working your clitoris though, and the look on his face, the look of him desperately trying not to cum, was actually one of the hottest things you’d ever seen. “Don’t stop,” you started yelling despite the fact that he wasn’t, “Dettlaff,” his chest pushed up against you, his face contorting further, you saw his fangs beginning to grow and pierce his lower lip, and then his hard cock _twitched_ inside you. You started coming _hard_ and desperately grabbed at him, unaware of yourself or if you had your eyes opened. 

Finally you came down, and felt Dettlaff’s ejaculate trickling down your leg. He released a breath you didn’t know he was holding, and started nearly panting, “can-ah, can we?”

“Yes,” you replied immediately, and he unsheathed his dick from you, and with it, a _lot_ of the vampire’s cum.

You just stared at his still erect, jism coated dick for a moment, catching your breath. “What if I went and got Regis?” Dettlaff smiled, and he went to nod, but you felt that his energy had shifted. 

He was nervous. 

“We can do this with Regis when we get back?” 

_Who was going to fuck who?_ Your eyes got wide at the thought and Dettlaff laughed at your expression, or maybe the way you smelled at that time. 

“Yes,” he smiled, his eyebrows pinching up in the middle. You watched him take the long, leather member now slick and shining as he pulled it through several intersecting straps, and again tightened the buckles around your sides. He tugged at it, and you swallowed. Dettlaff’s chest was dancing again as he stood up and looked down at you. You took his hand, and brought him to the bed.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, already knowing from the feel of his energy but wanting to calm him, relax him. 

He took a breath, and sucked his lip between his teeth again nervously. You’d forgotten about how he’d bit himself. 

“Good.” He replied, his deep voice self assuring and he went to kiss you, bringing you his large body where he lay chest up on the bed, and you weren’t sure when you were supposed to begin. It was weird, feeling like you wanted to ask Dettlaff how to fuck him in this manner, how to fuck something in this manner at all. But it was Dettlaff, so you just _did_ ask him. “How should I do this?” you asked, feeling your heartbeat quicken.

“I want to see you,” he replied, and that had not been your first expectation. 

“How?” you’d earnestly been hoping you’d see his ass, but the nervous look on his face made you want to soothe him more than anything else. The thick, round muscle of his thighs and overall lower body made you slightly less optimistic about lifting him. _Unless._

You lowered your head and began kissing him, whispering “hold onto me,” like he had to you earlier. His hands nearly wrapped your waist, and he dipped his forehead in by your mouth submissively. It felt like you were caring for him. It felt very good. You opened the doorway and instead of stepping through it closed it around you on the other side. Immediately you realized that the canvas of the tent was flapping. _Had their been weather here on its own before?_ The thought was only secondary when you saw Dettlaff’s eyes meet yours and you kissed him, filling yourself with energy you pulled him towards you with ease and he gasped from surprise or excitement or…

You couldn’t feel his energy here. In a moment of panic you asked, “was that a good sigh?” and a large, clawed hand went to your face next to where his mouth was regarding your own and he nodded desperately. 

“Yes,” it came out low and breathless. 

Clutching Dettlaff’s thick ass in your hands you brought him to you further lifting him up until he wrapped his legs around you and pleaded, “Maina”. 

One of his hands went to the leather and aligned it how he wanted, you thought, and as you started to push into him, you took his erection in your hand and started massaging it. 

His response was immediate. 

Dettlaff’s hand went to grab at the back of your neck as his eyes rolled. There was so much of him around you that you just let it happen, pushing further, rolling your palm around his stiff cock. You wanted to suck on him, _anything_ to make him writhe more in exactly the way he was writhing. 

“Do you like this?” you asked clumsily as you pulled your hips back, watching the shiny leather pull from his ass before you looked at his face, his eyes piercing you before you thrust into him and they got tight and fluttered. _Oh gods._

“ _Yes,_ ” he gasped coarsely, grasping at you more, so you hovered over him and started kissing his chest, then remembered your power here and brought his upper half to you, and kissed his lips instead. Dettlaff’s deep voice was quaking in an unfamiliar way, and he was grabbing at you in a new desperation that made you want to melt. He called your name, trying to reach at your clitoris but getting overwhelmed by the way you were touching him every attempt until finally, he grabbed onto your neck and shoulders and bit, getting close to cumming, then he pulled from your neck and you felt his member begin to pulse in your grip. Dettlaff bit down into his own lip, causing blood to spill down his chin, and urgently he kissed you, spurting his seed on the both of you as he pulled you down to him despite the power with which you attempted to resist. You kissed him back, feeling his blood trickling down your throat and recognized the saccharine taste must be akin to a drug, but you couldn’t stop, and a drug he certainly was. You opened the doorway while still entangled with him, and shut it on the otherside back into the world you call your home. 

Suddenly Dettlaff was _very_ heavy, and you nearly buckled under his weight but he recognized what was happening, and removed the one leg from over your arm he had, and instead wrapped it around your waist, not letting you go. You kissed him more, and found that you wanted to suck on his lip. Suck on his lip more than you regularly wanted to suck on any one body part of his. 

“I love you,” you stated dreamily. 

“I love you too, my Maina,” Dettlaff’s voice was soft and inviting. He squeezed you tightly, and exhaled into your hair, “so much.”

“Mmmm,” you smiled. “I think we might need another bath.”

He started to chuckle, and nodded into your shoulder, “yes, we might.”

“How much time do you think we have _now?_ ”

He pulled the rope and handle next to the bed, “We can ask Millie.”

Dettlaff picked you up and undid the straps, and tossed the contraption, then kissed your baby bump about a thousand times while Millie, who was really kind of a spitfire once you got to know her, filled the tub. Unfortunately you did not speak to her much at this point, because the curtain around the bed was drawn so that Dettlaff could kiss you, which he seemed incredibly intent on doing. 

Once Millie was finished, and Dettlaff had discerned that there was still plenty of time prior to bathe at one’s leisure, he picked you up and plopped you in the bath. 

“Do you remember how to put our clothes on?” you asked seriously and Dettlaff started to chuckle. 

“The katakan might notice,” Dettlaff scrunched his face slightly. Then he cocked his head at you. Did he smell different? He shook his head. “You drank my blood.”

Your eyes got wide and you nodded, “I did!”

It came out louder than you’d meant for it to, but the sight of him was exciting.

Dettlaff shook his head, and you thought you heard him curse Regis under his breath. 

He smelled on edge. He _had_ cursed Regis, and his heartbeat quickened when he did. He didn’t smell fearful, though. 

_Wait, why am I smelling him?_

You felt your eyes narrowing, “why exactly are you cursing Regis?”

“I won’t let anything happen, my Maina.” You felt his muzzle in your hair as he kissed you through your frizzing red locks. He paused. “Do you remember asking me what having an acern ara is like?”

You nodded your head _yes_.

“This will be close to it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's: graphic depictions of sex, biting, blood drinking, pegging a vampire because he earnestly needs you to fuck him. I think they actually have a conversation during sex? Or partially? I can't remember.
> 
> Well! Maina's about to get love-drunk off Dettlaff's blood. Regis and Geralt are in the next chapter as well. Hope you enjoyed!


	17. Art ! Dettlaff and Regis; Maina, Val, and Regis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's some art! The middle ones are just things I made after work when I wanted to relax and don't necessarily correspond with chapters. The one with Regis looking like a beatnik is my first attempt to do anything in photoshop and I didn't really finish it, but he's still looking cute as heck, lol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am feeling Dettlaff x Regis so dang much right now!

  


* * *

  
  


^ this is the beatnik sh*t I was referring to lol  


* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, constructive criticism, etc. are quite welcome!


	18. Dinners and Convoys and Palaces, Oh My

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regis has a lot to oversee.
> 
> Geralt has some legal trouble, Yennefer is Yennefer, Orianna is Orianna, Damien can read, Pierre is cute, Dettlaff gets close to hormonal, and Maina can't hold her vampire blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's at the end
> 
> This chapter jumps perspective a lot.
> 
> Big shout out to user silenceisaweapon who inspired/came up with the acern ara reverse-blood-drunk idea way back in...maybe the last chapter of To Bloom??!

/\\_~.~_/\

Regis was sitting in the study when his nose tingled, and he started having the slightest burning sensation in his throat. He inhaled the dank air around him.

“Geralt,” he called to Dacreval’s room, “have you forgotten to change out of your unlaundered clothing? We don’t want to give Dacreval a taste for human bloo-”

“What?” the witcher popped his head in, the small red haired child holding his hand, mumbling ‘othi’ in a high pitched voice. 

The vampire smiled at his mates’ son, _his_ son, before raising an eyebrow at the witcher. “I merely wanted you to change out of your bloodied armor.”

Geralt crossed his one free arm over his middle, as if _he_ were disappointed in the higher vampire for even _considering_ he would bring that around him...or around Dacreval. 

Regis went still, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. The witcher’s mirrored his and they both looked at each other, heads turning towards the front door. 

“Stay,” Geralt began, but the vampire simply vaporized and exited the crypt. “Damn it, Regis.”

Geralt walked down the hallway with Val tugging at his hand, and into the bedroom opposite Dacreval’s. He let go of Val and, crawling to the other side of the bed, peered out the window, relaxing and focusing, letting himself get lost in his senses. He looked passed several headstones to a shifting grey patch between the trees. Dark iron?

"Othi!" Val clamored up beside him, hugging his forearm.

More movement caught the witcher’s cat eyes a few feet from the grey patch. Dark iron and leather straps. 

He sensed the vampire beginning to materialize behind him. “Knights?”

“They are,” Regis picked up Dacreval and put his face to the small child’s, feeling himself relax. 

“I’m going to go talk to them,” Geralt said, hopping off the bed and grabbing his two swords from the adjacent room.

“Perhaps you should take the back exit. I'd like to not confirm their rather _obvious_ suspicions.”

“What makes you believe they don’t already know you live here?”

Regis smiled at the small boy in his arms, “I overheard their conversation.” 

“Alright, then,” Geralt walked towards the study, “I’ll take the back exit.”

“Unless your plan is to bore them away, I fail to see how speaking to them will be useful.”

“I’m going to find out what they’re doing here. What else would I be going outside to talk for?”

“Ah, because we don't know the answer to that mystery.”

“Just let me do this.” 

The witcher slammed the door to the study.

“Othi awa,” Dacreval interjected. 

“Hmm, yes,” the vampire smiled down at him as he reopened the door to the study, " _completely_ unnecessary.”

/\/\

The witcher sheathed his silver and sent igni at the re-erected kikimore nest, “Persistent little fucks.”

He wasn’t certain if he was referring to the kikimores or the knights. 

Popping his head up from the cave’s entrance located inside an old, robbed grave, Geralt scanned the area before gracefully leaping to his feet on the sound earth. Not wanting them to know where in the graveyard he had come, decided to loop around them and come up their flank. He walked westward, where there was no water barrier in case he was found out. 

“Regis, of all the vampires you needed to be regenerated by,” he started mumbling to himself, cutting between two bushes, “it had to be the one who would fall in love with,” at the sound of footsteps, grabbed the lowest branch of the nearest tree and pulled himself up, then up further, watching two men pass, “the depressed woman,” he swung himself back to the earth and trotted, “who lived in my loft.” 

He was staring at the backs of the interloping knights, now, and quietly approached until he was looking down at them both. One had a feather in his helmet, while the younger man’s armor was older. 

He crossed his arms, “Excuse me.”

They both jumped, the younger man’s face full of surprise.

“Y’you’re the,” he eyed the man with the feather, who obviously outranked him. 

“The witcher, _yee_ ah,” Geralt looked around as if thinking the sight of two knights sitting on tombstones watching a crypt in the middle of a graveyard was confusing to him, “interesting place for knights, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” The older man’s face held no humor as he leered up at Geralt. The witcher felt the slightest bit of surprise from his expression, but showed nothing. 

“Where’s Damien?” It came out commanding.

The young man blurted, “Lady Orianna’s Falconry Festival, of course.”

His senior gave him a scathing look, and Geralt took the opportunity to walk away. He could hear their calls getting quieter, trailing him in the wrong direction of the crypt, and he smirked. He ducked, pushing the lid on the coffin overhead to close off the entrance of the cave. 

“Geralt.”

The witcher smacked his head on the lid. _Vampires,_ he thought. 

Regis was standing beside several dead kikimores, turning back into his most human state - Dacreval flying about his person playfully. As the claws of his hands retracted, he began unbuttoning his now soiled shirt. “Geralt, I’ll need you to explain to me precisely all it is you know about these murders, and the state of Auguste Dupont’s body when you found him.”

  
  


\/\/

“Maina,” Dettlaff smiled down at you, forgetting what he’d been about to say as you reached out and traced his cheek with your finger, _bopping_ him on the nose. 

He shook his head. 

“Darling,” he took your hand in his very large one, trying not to laugh, “how much did you have?” 

His face looked concentrated. 

“I don’t _know_ ,” you replied, defensively, “you were there.” 

His large hand patted your upper back; it was very soothing. “I think, maybe, we should spend the rest of the night in the tent.” You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. 

“Should we?” you asked, starting to giggle. 

“That isn’t what I meant, Maina.” 

“You big old bat, you,” you felt his heartbeat quicken. 

His finger went under your chin, and he lifted your face and searched it, “yes, I think you are overwhelmed.” 

You shut your eyes tight. _He’s right, Maina. All you can do is smell and hear and feel him right now._ The lids of your eyes pushed harder. _You aren’t thinking straight._

“How long is this going to last?” you asked in your moment of clarity. _How long had it been?_

“Around twelve hours,” he replied, and the lifting, weightless sensation you had when he spoke _did_ start to overwhelm you. 

A hand grabbed yours, but it was much smaller than Dettlaff’s, and suddenly you no longer were experiencing weightlessness. 

“Orianna?” you asked, opening your eyes and with one look at you, hers widened. 

“Dettlaff van der Eretein,” she _tisked_. 

“Believe me,” Dettlaff's pointed teeth presented themselves, “it was not intentional. Maina ha-”

“Ooh, no. I’d rather not hear the rest of that,” she looked at you, “the state of your _re_ dressing explains enough.” 

You blushed, and Dettlaff examined his clothes, disappointedly.

She smiled at you, “well, it seems you had enough of it to be over protective.” You realized you had, without thinking, positioned yourself between Orianna and Dettlaff, “but altogether I think you’re holding up. Well done, Maina!” 

She clapped her hands together with a knowing laugh, and walked the two of you away from the stage, down the slope of the hill facing the palace and the rest of Toussaint. The trees were scattered less and less in the tall grass and she led you to a row of uniquely utilitarian looking square tents stuck out like a sore thumb against the vibrant more elaborate ones. 

“Tada!” She threw up her arms. 

Dettlaff grunted, and you were playing with his curly hair, twirling it in your hand. The large, dark haired man’s lips pushed together and turned downwards at the end. He was obviously trying not to smile. 

“Let’s go through it,” you sneered at the empty tent. 

“Let’s!” 

Jumping _and_ clutching your heart, you realized Pierre was standing next to you. He smiled toothily at the tent.

When you took a step forward, felt Dettlaff’s hand on your head, stopping you in your tracks. “You go back and stay in our tent, for this, Dettlaff.” You told him, trying and failing to take a another step.

“Oh my good lord,” Orianna shrouded her face with her hand and wheezed, "she’s trying to _protect_ you.” 

Both her head and her shoulders were shaking. Was she _laughing_ at you? The weightlessness was disappearing again. You held Dettlaff, face scrunching. “Are you sure this is what having an acern ara feels like?”

Orianna’s head popped out of her hand, “ _That_? Vampire-blood drunk? Similar to the feeling of having an acern ara? _Dettlaff, are you joking?_ ”

“I see nothing wrong with the compariso-”

“It isn’t even close _!”_ She rolled her eyes and turned to the tent, appraising it. Dettlaff scoffed, and gazing down at you, broke out into a smile. 

“It’s certainly something,” he replied, your hand going to stroke his cheek.

“Oh this is _quite_ precious,” Pierre said, cocking his head at the two of you. He lowered his voice, “she gets a little touchy about _blood drinking,_ you understand.”

“Pierre, will you _shut_ it! Heavens,” she snorted.

The way Dettlaff’s brow curved into his nose was really a beautiful thing, you thought. He smelled so much muskier at the moment.

“He’ll be arriving soon,” Orianna was obviously in thought, “so we’ll leave for now, but I see no reason why you shouldn’t come scrounging around the place sometime during dinner while we’re all occupied. I can’t guarantee you the local law enforcement are the type for evening entertainment.” Her hand ran down the neck to her elegant magenta silk and pearl laced gown. “But I _can_ guarantee you they like to eat.”

-

Neither of you were any good at telling the other to cut the public displays of affection at this point in time. The two of you were sitting at a round table having been brought along by Pierre, whom you really had a difficult time saying _no_ to. The katakan wasn’t even seated next to you, he was across the hanging lantern lit dance floor. 

Your hand was wrapping around Dettlaff’s thigh, and you squeezed it. Immediately a hand was covering your own. There was a slight tingling on your tongue, and you wondered what it was about. Your eyes got wide. 

“Dettlaff,” you asked, and his eyes broke from scanning the surrounding tables to look down at you, his smile appearing again. His fangs began peeking out from behind his lips. You were just thinking that you should tell him to hide them when he closed his mouth shut and nodded at you. 

You leaned closer to him, “I don’t see Damien anywhere.”

“Yes, neither do I.”

Scanning the tables one more time, you felt yourself frown, “are we still going to search his tent?”

“Yes, my treasure,” His hand wrapped around your shoulder, “we will.”

Then, as the last light of the day faded, a smartly dressed man walked to the center of the dancefloor and began the dinner. 

/\\_<l>_/\

“What you’re telling me, Geralt,” Regis rubbed his temples, “is that you’ve been able to glean where _one_ of the bodies was found. I hate to be derisive, but I’d expected you to discover more.” 

“Regis, were you even listening?” Geralt asked, incredulous. 

“Oh my,” the vampire leaned back in his chair placing his hands on his face, “I can sense an enumeration coming.”

“Yeah, you can.” The witcher scooted closer, holding up his finger, “We found Auguste in Krael’ef, he didn’t have blood coming from his eyes.”

He frowned. 

“There was something else, too.”

“The buckle Maina found,” Regis pointed at his desk, hand still over his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“No, not that.”

Regis sat up, cocking his head at his friend. 

“Well?” His voice was eager, “Out with it.”

Geralt squinted, “Yeah, I’m gonna, just…” he sighed. Then snapped his finger, “What’s that, that plant. It smells at night, mostly.”

“As in _stinks?_ ” Regis shook his head in confusion. 

“No, it,” his snaps became quicker, “it smells good.”

“Ah!” Regis perked, “Night blooming?”

“Yes!” Geralt opened his eyes. “Night blooming jasmine.”

He clapped his hands. 

“So?” Regis sat back again, “did the corpse _wear it?_ Was it in his digestive tract?”

“No, he _smelled_ like it. Like, _reeked_ of it.”

“Hm.” The vampire returned to his forlorn sitting position. 

“What? No alchemy wisdom? Or herbalist insight on it?”

“Afraid not.” 

“Well, that’s not good,” the witcher’s head turned in the direction of Dacreval’s room. By now, it was instinct. “No real leads. Meanwhile Damien is wasting time at that fucking falconry festival, and we have knights outside the house, waitin-”

“What did you just say?”

“Uh,” Geralt stared at the vampire, who seemed oddly urgent, now. “We have knights outside the house.”

“Did you say Damien is at the festival?”

“Yeah,” the witcher shrugged, “why?”

“What do you mean, _why?_ ” Regis asked, sounding angry, and when Geralt went to stand and comfort him, he let him. "I apologize for being short, Geralt."

The witcher nodded, then let the vampire go as he disappeared into the air.

“Watch Dacreal.”

Geralt stood there, looking up at the dank cave ceiling after he left, “Didn’t think she was in danger, what with Dettlaff being there.”

-

The air had a bit of a bite to it as Regis descended onto the lantern lit party on the slope of Mount Gorgon. He appeared in the forest behind the largest wood table. Something about the crowd was distracting him, and it was more difficult for him to sense Dettlaff these days. 

“Orianna,” he greeted as he walked up from the forest, he scanned the dance floor and the other tables. Couples were prancing around everywhere. Musicians were drunk and getting drunker, and there was no sign of Damien. 

“Regis?” Orianna beamed as she looked up from her seat, “Why, it took you long enough! You foul old git.” 

The vampire would have smiled were he not worried by his inability to find them. “Truly lovely as ever, Orianna. Now, where is my family?”

He lowered his head to her eye level as she pointed across the dancefloor and... and Regis felt his heart skip. Dettlaff’s dark black hair next to Maina’s red mess was always a very _pleasant_ sight to the vampire. It was immensely comforting. It was home.

He cocked his head as the two started kissing fiercely.

“Ooh, those little,” Orianna’s voice was amused and disapproving, “they’ve been nothing but trouble since,” she looked at the spacing between her and her neighbors, dropping her voice, “Maina drank his blood.”

The two had their hands in each other’s hair.

Orianna grabbed his arm before he could disappear, “I’m afraid you have to _walk_ over, old friend.”

Regis sighed as he made his way around the dance floor. There were so many bloody people about, drunk and lost in merriment that he had to make a mental note of the last time he took his suppressant just out of _aggression._ He was two tables away when a large figure took up the entirety of his vision. 

“May I help you?” He asked, before realizing the man was simply drunk and walked around him. 

Maina and Dettlaff’s table was empty.

“...Fuck.” 

Regis turned back to the gargantuan body and stood behind it, before he disappeared. He waited until he was fully vaporized before drifting above the trees and scanning the area. He could see nothing. _They certainly vanished quick enough,_ he drifted towards what was obviously the campgrounds, which were handsomely spread for privacy, _Dettlaff must be wearing thin on his suppressant to be so reckless with invisibility._

Then Regis' nose twitched, and he followed Maina’s scent to a white canvas tent. 

“What on earth have the two of you gotten yourselves into?” he asked, as Maina- being carried by Dettlaff- exited a sizable white canvas tent. “Who’s tent is this?"

“Damien’s,” Maina replied, looking like she was about to giggle. Her hair looking frizzier than Regis had ever seen it. Her eyes hardly leaving Dettlaff, and Dettlaff’s hardly leaving Maina. Regis felt a pang. 

“We need to leave, now.” 

Something very close to a growl came out of Dettlaff, and Regis uncorked the suppressant in his bag and gave it to him. “Drink, please.”

_The sheer unruliness…_

It did not take long for the suppressant to kick in, and slowly it became clear that Dettlaff was feeling less aggressive and _thinking_ more. 

His eyes got wide, and he looked down at his red haired Mate, then to his balding one. “Follow me.”

They arrived at the red tent, now lit by lanterns and candles in the night. Dettlaff sat Maina on the bed, who sprawled out and beckoned him nearer. Regis looked at her in wonder, before taking Dettlaff by the arm and leading him outside.

“How much of your blood did she drink?”

“I’m sorry, Regi-”

“How much of it did she drink?”

Dettlaff’s jaw flexed as he approximated. “I was distracted.”

“That, my dear, is very disappointing,” Regis’ face tensed in anger.

“It isn’t so bad, Re- _gis._ ” his voice was becoming angry. too.

“How is that? You know Maina is _sober,_ Dettlaff? Do you know what happens when one ingests an addicting substance when one is _sober?_ ” he turned around and walked back into the tent. The younger vampire’s face fell, and he followed him. 

Dettlaff hadn’t thoroughly worked that through.

“We’ll monitor her for the next few days,” he offered, as if they didn't already watch each other closely, to Regis, who spun around and met him at the door of the tent, stopping him in his tracks.

“We are together in this. In life.” His eyes and voice pierced the younger vampire, “you, Maina, and I should thrive because of each other’s efforts, not in _spite_ of them. Stay and watch the door, please.”

-  
  


Regis smiled at Maina, who was now sleeping peacefully on the bed, he heard Dettlaff come inside, but that was fine by him. He wasn’t angry anymore. The young redhead was certainly a pain in the ass when drunk off blood, but she was a lovely pain in the ass. 

“Regis,” the younger vampire’s voice faltered, and it caught him off guard. He turned to him just as the door to the tent opened, and Orianna stepped in. 

“The brute’s a vexling, I’d stake my life on it.” 

The two men looked to her in surprise, hardly having time to react when Pierre popped in after her.

“Hello, Orianna.”

“That’s quite a vehement declaration, if I do say so myself,” Regis mused, welcoming her into the space fluidly, “any evidence to back it up?” 

“Pierre saw him changing _,_ _morphing,_ " she nodded to Pierre, who pantomimed the size difference with his arms.

"I _thought_ I saw him," Pierre amended.

"Then I found two differently sized sets of trousers, and shirts." Orianna looked around the tent, “where’s Maina?”

“Sleeping,” Dettlaff stated. 

“Probably for the best. Nice seeing you at _his tent_ like we’d agreed.”

“Had that been the agreement?” his eyes narrowed, trying to remember.

“Perhaps I’d forgotten to state that I’d be there,” she frowned. “How do we get that witcher to check if he's a doppler?”

"Ask him," Dettlaff answered simply.

“What if _you’re_ a doppler?”

Regis stirred from his thoughts, “If one of us- Dettlaff, Maina, or I- were a doppler, the other two would know."

“ _How_ would you know?” Orianna shook her head, “never mind, earnestly. I believe you.”

/\/\

Geralt was cleaning his sword in the study when Dettlaff appeared in front of him. 

“Where’s Regis?” The witcher stood with urgency, sword instinctively in hand. 

“He’s fine,” the vampire replied, “he’s with Maina.”

Taking a relieved breath, Geralt sat back down. 

“Orianna thinks that Damien is a mimic. We need you to come to Rioux-Cannes outpost.” The vampire’s eyes always nearly sent a chill down the witcher’s spine.

“You have my horse, Dettlaff.” 

A portal opened up, and Yennefer walked through it. 

Geralt groaned just as Dettlaff disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Yen stepped out for a moment, “Well? Don’t think I didn’t have better plans for this evening? Get in.”

A thud came from the hallway, and Geralt stood.

“It’s Maina and Orianna, they’re watching that child.”

“Dacre.”

“Geralt will you _please.”_

The witcher wiped his sword one more time and sheathed it, before stepping into the portal.

/\\_<l>_/\

Regis finished downing the concoction and placed the glass back on the floor of the tent. After a few moments, Dettlaff appeared before him. 

“Well?” he asked. 

“Geralt is going, and the sorceress is taking him. They’ll return to the crypt afterwards.”

Regis hummed, “Let’s say we join for moral support, shall we?”

The younger vampire crossed the tent and pulled him up by his hand, letting go of it before they walked out into the night’s chilly air. 

“It really is a beautiful festival, isn’t it?” Regis asked, looking up at the lanterns in the trees, but Dettlaff couldn’t think about that, now. 

“Regis, I’m sorry,” the chest of the younger vampire’s doublet rose and fell unsteadily, “I hadn’t been thinking, when I let her, didn't stop her...”

“Shh,” he answered, “so long as you think next time.” 

It looked like Dettlaff wanted to say something more, but he remained quiet. Instead, Regis felt a large hand wrap itself around his own, and he smiled. 

They walked down the path to Damien’s tent when they heard it.

“You, sir Geralt of Rivia are hereby placed under arrest for…”

Regis pulled Dettlaff down into the long grass, falling on top of the larger vampire. 

He peeked to the voices. 

Geralt was being put into cuffs by the ducal guard.

They watched for a moment before both the vampire's noticed the smell of lilac and gooseberries.

“Well, he’s finally done it,” Yennefer knelt next to them, “Were you here for the entirety?”

Regis gave her a scathing look for being so blase, then returned his attention to the tent. Dettlaff rolled over to observe as well. “What happened?”

“A bit of a wrong place, wrong time conundrum, it seems." It sounded as if Yennefer thought this was deliciously fun and still somehow dreadfully boring. "Someone had burglarized the tent,”

Regis’ attention shot to Dettlaff. 

“Maina and I left it untouched,” the younger vampire stated coolly.

“Orianna, then,” he surmised. 

“Regardless, he and I arrived shortly before Damien. Then Geralt per usual, couldn’t help himself but to quick _take a look inside_.” She scoffed, and it sounded nearly like a chortle. 

“Is this _that_ amusing, Yennefer?” Regis asked, backing away from the grass and further down the hill.

“Come now,” Yen followed him, Dettlaff too, “he’ll be fine.”

Then her face became sullen. 

Then frustrated. 

“Fuck, _will he?_ ” she asked, sounding much tenser than she had a moment ago. "This is the _south_ , after all."

“What did they arrest him for?” Dettlaff asked. 

“He’s being charged with obstruction of an ongoing investigation and tampering with evidence,” she flipped her hair, “weren’t you _listening?”_

Dettlaff growled at her, then looked back at the guards. He didn't like the look of it. “Do you know where they’ll take him?”

“Regis, since when does the big one care for Geralt?” 

“Truly, Yennefer," Regis sounded exhausted. "I have no idea, Dettlaff. Shall we follow him?” 

Dettlaff’s face became worried, thinking of his acern ara and Val. 

The three of them stood and walked back a few feet out of the moonlight, Yennefer brushing her knees both in a vigorous and elegant fashion. The tall, dark haired man turned to her. 

“Will you watch Maina and my son? I do not fully trust Orianna,” Dettlaff’s intonation was difficult to place. 

Yennefer peered up at him, quizzically. “But you trust _me?”_

“Yes.” 

Regis thought he saw a flicker of something soft on the sorceress' countenance before she flipped her hair and it was gone. 

“I can’t very well let my investment get _eaten_ , can I.”

“Unlikely, of course.” Regis smiled, “Black blood.”

Yennefer looked at him, deadpan. “I am _no longer_ listening.”

She walked off into the forest. After a few moments Regis and Dettlaff could make out the hushed sounds of a portal opening. The group of ducal guardsmen were leading Geralt away.

"They're moving." 

-

They followed the convoy down the slope of Mount Gorgon, Regis keeping a keen eye on the prisoner wagon below them.

“I can’t help but to think this is a trap,” Regis stated, “if they know what we are, they must know how easy it would be for us to free him.” 

Over the wind they flew through, he heard Dettlaff agree unhappily. 

“So it seems.” 

Regis took pause for a moment. 

“Why _do_ you care so much about what happens to Geralt?” 

Through the moonlight he could see the procession picking up pace as the path became clearer and the ground leveled out. 

Again through the whistling wind he heard Dettlaff’s low voice, sounding taken aback, “he is a part of our pack, is he not?”

Regis laughed, and if he’d had a body at that moment, would have nodded in acknowledgement. “No wonder Orianna is so amused with us.”

He hadn’t meant to say it very loudly, and was pleasantly surprised when the faint sound of a deep, rich chuckle came back to him. 

The cart and accompanying guardsmen entered the palace grounds through the garden, cutting uphill at a steep angle. 

“This isn’t right,” Regis' voice was upset, “they should be taking him to a holding cell on Crane Isle.”

“Perhaps he is of more importance,” Dettlaff mused, “Or perhaps de la Tour wants to keep a closer watch.”

The two swooped down around a white stone spire, descending into the courtyard. It seemed much darker lit than Regis remembered it being at night. They stopped and hovered over a roof. 

“How much do you think they know about vampires?” Dettlaff asked as Geralt was removed from the wagon, still cuffed, and taken into a tall portion of the building. 

“I rather hope very little,” Regis replied, “will you keep watch out here if I go speak to him?” 

“Already?”

“Yes, and---actually, follow _him._ ” 

Regis pointed to Damien de la Tour himself as he walked the courtyard. 

“Why would he not have stayed at the festival?” Dettlaff questioned. 

The two were silent for a moment, before Regis spoke, “please be careful, Dettlaff.”

Regis descended into the courtyard and slipped through the doorway, still bodiless and unseen. The hallway was large, he could feel that, but dark. He floated along until he reached the end, and drifted into a room with a desk and nothing else. He went back to the hallway and examined it. 

_Hidden door._

There wasn’t much space, but he would fit, and he slipped through the cracks of it to come out the other end finding a dank, torchlit spiraling staircase. It was rather difficult for him to discern whether it primarily went up, or down, or both. Nor did he know enough about Toussaint culture on where they took prisoners of apparent importance and hid them in their palace, to trust his conjecture. He chose upwards, if only to be optimistic. 

He had nearly reached the top of the staircase when he came to the first door, and heard profuse cursing in a familiar voice. Through the door were two men guarding another door still. Regis slipped passed them and inside. 

“Attempted sabotage of an ongoing _asshat,_ that’s _what,”_ Geralt swore as Regis materialized, “I feel like fucking Rapunzel.”

“Shhhh, Geralt,” he whispered, and the witcher didn't flinch even slightly, before turning to him. 

-

An entire palace built by men was a less than ideal place for Dettlaff. Truth be told, he still really did despise humans. The thought of them unsettled him. In general, when he’d meet one or two they were fine, albeit confusing. Perhaps it was the fallacy of _humanity_ that he despised. The juxtaposition of how he felt about humanity and how he felt about Maina nearly made him laugh, but he couldn’t. 

Not here, at least. 

It seemed as if the palace grounds were never ending- that there was always another white stone platform for the captain to step onto after the next. It was getting tiring. Not physically, just, frustratingly, for the vampire. 

Out of spite he allowed his body to materialize when the captain reached a balcony. He walked up to the corner of the building adjacent, hid behind the side of it and peered out slightly. 

The captain removed his helmet, allowing for his scarred head to be seen, and loudly stated, “I know that you are here.” 

Dettlaff didn’t think that was true.

“And I am not afraid of you.”

Dettlaff wondered why that would matter. 

“In fact, I am glad that you are here.”

He wondered what the captain was trying to do, but remained silent, observing him. 

Damien de la Tour peered at the darkness of the balcony and the courtyard beyond it, as if driving himself crazy with whether or not he actually _did_ believe someone was out there. Then, he replaced his helmet and walked down the steps and out of the light of the torches. Dettlaff could see him from where he stood. The man was bent over. Checking a flower box of some sort, only he removed the flowers and dirt all at once as if they were false. 

Dettlaff smelled the air, and found no traces of anything floral coming from the box. He turned into smoke again, feeling ready to leave.

Damien replaced the flowers and walked back out onto the balcony where the torchlight scattered about the stones, still looking over his shoulder. He was carrying something in this hand. 

A tightly rolled piece of parchment. He opened it and read its contents. Then his body became rigid, and he stood straighter. He looked over his shoulder one more time, and Dettlaff was certain that if he hadn’t vaporized, that he’d have been staring directly at him. 

Damien’s eyes were starting to dart around rather frantically, and he broke out in a trot past Dettlaff. He followed closely as the captain snaked his way through the palace grounds, until he arrived at the courtyard where Regis disappeared to find Geralt.

Two of his men ran to meet him halfway upon seeing him.

Dettlaff let himself become solid again. He stood, watching at a distance, and listened.

“Surely that must not be true!” 

“How can you be certain?” 

“I am your captain, I am certain because I am and it is true because it _is._ ”

“But _invisible?_ It cannot be!”

Dettlaff’s brow dipped severely, before he heard someone call out from afar, and no sooner had he recognized what kind of call it was, than the arrow struck him in the shoulder. 

And it _stung._

“Silver?” Dettlaff whispered to himself as he examined the bolt, half amused. Mostly unhappy.

Then he was hit by something and fell back. 

“Are you trying to become a pin cushion? _Move!_ ” Regis pulled him up by the shoulder, an arrow hitting the ground they’d just been laying on, and the two began running. 

An arrow cut between them. 

“Why don’t we disappear, now?” Regis called, grabbing Dettlaff by the hand and pulling him behind a small, jutting spire just wide enough to cloak them. 

“Be _cause,_ ” Dettlaff gripped the arrow, “I’d like to get this _out_ of my shou-”

They heard footsteps, and Dettlaff pushed Regis to a sprint in front of him. 

“Out of my shoulder first.”

Regis couldn’t argue with how painful foreign objects were while vaporized.

_Shwoooooft._

“Gah,” the younger vampire gasped as another silver tipped arrow sank into him just as he dislodged the first.

The slope they ran down curved to a point and into the palace gardens, but Regis knew a faster way. 

“Well, hurry up and remove it!” he shouted, the footsteps becoming louder. Regis grabbed Dettlaff by his arm and pulled him onto a spiral railing, sliding down it. 

“ _This is terrifying,_ ” Dettlaff called before the railing spat them out into a bush below, and they picked themselves up to sprint again. They were just getting to the palace gardens when Dettlaff fished the arrow out of him completely. 

“There!” He called, breaking past the last building when the glint of a silver sword swung out in front of Regis, en route to his neck.

The younger vampire vanished, lunging at the swordsman, tackling him, before he and Regis disappeared altogether. 

Regis appeared at the base of a tree miles up the slope from the palace on an outcrop no human could easily view the top of or climb. Dettlaff appeared next to him moments later. 

“Dettlaff, Geralt. He didn't,” Regis said, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. He looked up just in time to see the younger vampire before he picked him up, and his lips were being met. 

“Regis,” Dettlaff inhaled, and he felt a sizable palm go to the back of his head. He put his hands on Dettlaff’s face, and started kissing him back. 

“Dettlaff,” it came out strange, “thank you.” 

The younger man pecked him, “No one,” he kissed him again, “likes being beheaded.” 

He smacked Regis’ ass where he held him, and Regis inhaled. The adrenaline was making him feel frantic, and were both undoing their clothing until they reconvened and began kissing again. He felt Dettlaff’s erection against his own, and sucked in air when a large hand gently gripped them. The younger vampire drew circles, twisting his wrist gently. Then, he started running up and down the length of their shafts, together. 

“Regis,” Dettlaff moaned as their jaws worked, continuing to pleasure their manhood together. Finally, Regis pushed back. He was getting close, and didn't want this to be finished - not yet. He looked down at Dettlaff’s member, lit only by moon's cool glow. He knelt, and felt Dettlaff’s fingers run through his hair, before cupping the side of his face. The older vampire licked the length of him, and felt him shudder, before popping his head into his mouth and sucking, rolling his tongue around him. He could hear Dettlaff’s breathing excite, and he trembled to not buck his hips, but Regis wanted that. So, he took Dettlaff’s ass into his hands and pushed him further. 

“Fuck, Regis,” Dettlaff gasped, an air of urgency in his voice as it shot up an octave. The barber-surgeon opened his mouth further so that Dettlaff’s stiff cock only rubbed his throat, and immediately felt the younger shiver. Hands went to either side of his head, and Dettlaff, losing his self control, started to fuck his throat. 

“Grrraa,” he heard the younger groaning more fiercely, and felt claws begin to scratch past his scalp as they doubled, tripled, and quadrupled in length. Regis closed his eyes, hardly being able to see with the tears that were streaming his face. Dettlaff’s cock was so thick, and long, that he was beginning to hurt, but the noises from him were exciting, and he didn’t care. He wanted Dettlaff to cum, to feel him peak in his mouth. Finally the grip in his hair tightened, cutting his skin, and Dettlaff's dick shoved deeper, _deeper,_ until Regis was gagging, and when the younger quaked next, he spilled his seed down Regis' throat. When he pulled himself from Regis, the older vampire bit his lip, smiling sheepishly. 

Regis felt his own erection, eager and ready, and started to touch himself, Dettlaff sat next to him, kissing him. Regis could see that he was blushing. He could sense some sort of unease.

“What is it?” Regis asked, his own cock in his hand; noting how Dettlaff looked as if he were getting _excited_ again...noting it with every nerve in his body. 

The dark haired man replied something inaudible. 

“Dettlaff, _please,_ what is it?” he almost giggled. 

“Have me, Regis.” 

It took the barber surgeon a second of looking into those light, blue gray eyes before the made sense. They wiped the smile directly from his face and he kissed his young mate, _fiercely._

“Is that,” Dettlaff tried to speak beyond his mouth's advances, “a yes?”

Regis nodded into him, and turned him around. The shapely sight of the younger vampire excited him, and he was surprised when he noticed that the other seemed almost nervous. But he didn’t say anything, only snuggled to the large body, and aligned himself.

Then he leaned to Dettlaff’s ear and started to suck on it, and he had meant to ask the larger vampire if he had been ready, but the feel of his muscular back on his front excited him, and instead of asking, he thrust into his large partner, and gasped. 

“Are you okay?” Regis whispered, but he wasn’t certain if he was going to be able to wait for the reply before continuing. The way Dettlaff's perfectly round ass sat in his groin, taking his dick, was overwhelming. He clenched his teeth, and closed his eyes shut _tight_ with all his might as he waited those two seconds for a reply. 

“Yes,” Dettlaff replied, voice throaty, and Regis gasped, letting out the breath he'd been holding, and thrust again. His long cock disappearing between the cheeks of the younger vampire’s perfect figure. 

“ _Gods_ , Dettl _aff_ ,” Regis pulled him in closer and Dettlaff allowed it. Regis bucked faster. 

“Fuck,” the younger man moaned, “fuck me, Regis.”

Regis thrust again. 

“ _Fuck_ me, _Regis”_

He started to feel the high of his orgasm approach and didn’t stop, Dettlaff grabbed his hands and pulled him nearer, closer around him as Regis closed his eyes and came, smelling the larger vampire, feeling his muscles against him, his round ass perched in his groin, on his thighs. Finally he relaxed, and then he was kissing the younger man’s neck, and the curve of his shoulder, and his lower hairline where a mound of beautiful black and grey streaked curls sat. He smelt like cedarwood and something sharper that he could not place. Their bodies slick with sweat where they met each other.

“That was absolutely gorgeous, Dettlaff,” Regis whispered into the ear he nibbled, and saw by the curving of Dettlaff’s cheek, that he was smiling. Then, Dettlaff rolled around and in one easy motion collected Regis into his arms and cradled him to his large chest. Their foreheads meeting.

The younger vampire was smiling so much that Regis started to laugh a very, very good laugh, and Dettlaff joined. 

/\\_~.~_/\

-

First, you thought you’d woken on top of a monstrous Dettlaff in a dank cave. The next, you were in a forest on a mound of Regis' fur. 

The third time you woke with your head aching, and _Yennefer_ playing with _Dacreval_ in front of an unfamiliar fireplace. Which was by far the _most_ absurd of the three. You decided _this_ , at least, was certainly a dream, and in trying to wake up, fell back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's: graphic depictions of vampires loving vampires, slight gore but not really, someone being blood drunk
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWD7k6TrJ-g  
> song


	19. AART

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ll keep this chapter as is. I feel like it’s a nice spot for both their faces after last chapter ;p

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the theme was suggested to me by gharashambles on tumblr which is why it reads "loneliness gharash" at the bottom!
> 
> yeah, I know...guess Regis is a flirty lonely X"D


	20. Tracing Jasmine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maina wakes up from the blood incident to a fully pregnant belly and a bed _full_ of vampires, in a vampire's castle. After speaking with Geralt, she wonders if the mystery behind the disappearing citizens is beginning to unfold or if she is, as it feels the more they discover, the less she understands what is at work behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made the cute art of Dacreval for this chapter today! It was so much fun! 
> 
> CW's at the end :P

Yennefer of Vengeberg sat at her desk, closing the book she’d been reading. She frowned, letting her eyes wander to the bustling city. The wind was howling, and it was sending rain against the several diamond shaped panes of the window. 

“You do not wish to live in Toussaint,” she told herself, running her hand through her hair- tangled from the odd amalgam of cold rain followed by a warm fire. “It’s boring. There is nothing to do there.” 

The door opened behind her, and she thumbed another book. 

“Ah! Yen,” Triss Merigold walked in, “finished up in Toussaint?” 

“No, I am _not_ ,” she opened the back cover, scanning the index. “Not yet.” 

The red haired sorceress walked up and looked over Yennefer’s shoulder, removing her coat as she did so, “Still looking into _Geralt’s_ contract with the Duchess?”

She said _Geralt_ with an obvious bite.

“Yes, Triss,” she massaged her temples.

“And you're reading into aeromancy for a few missing people?”

“As well as ceraunoscopy,” Yen decided she was going to need to reread those last two sentences. 

“Lightning?” Triss sounded somewhat interested. “I saw Keira today.”

“Fantastic.”

“...got back from visiting Lambert and I guess some,” Triss’ boots thudded against the ground one by one as she removed them, “young people have been going missing in Ard Carraigh…”

Yennefer turned the page, “Is that so.”

“Yes.” She walked over to the handsome stone counter and began running a brush through her hair, scrunching her face as she did, “I guess Eskel had just left to deal with it when she arrived at Kaer Morhen.”

“Well,” Yen absently rubbed a page with her gloved fingers, speaking namely to herself, “unless their bodies had been located in a very specific realm of possibilities...the legacy of such recorded by only the _least_ capable in history,” she eyed the narrow spine of a book with _‘Dauk Mythos Vol. 2/2’_ printed on it, “this information is likely of _no use to me_.” 

“What? The bodies?” Triss didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “Some have been found. _Mutilated_ beyond recognition...can you imagine?” Her voice trailed off as she walked into a separate room, calling back, “all except a few pieces of clothing.”

Yennefer yawned, fingers rubbing her temples once more. _Mutilated beyond recognition._ She’d heard that before, quite recently. She wanted to knit her brows, but didn’t. Heard it from _Geralt,_ actually. She sighed, “Fan- _tas-_ tic.”

` ` `

-

You opened your eyes to Dacreval fast asleep on your stomach. As you watched him taking his little breaths, realized that he really had chosen the vantage point of your body. 

Your belly was _huge._

“What the?” You wondered to yourself, feeling the gentle slope of it under your hand. A smile started to twitch at the corners of your mouth when Val stirred. “I see you two are already getting along swimmingly.”

It wasn’t until you heard your stomach rumble and looked around that you realized something:

You had no fucking idea whose bed you were in.

The sun had passed the midway point, or so it appeared to you - the large room was exceptionally breezy and unenclosed. On the first floor, with large doors that opened to the countryside on either end of where you laid. Somehow, though, you felt easy. It was _vaguely_ familiar. On the other hand, you were still feeling pretty out of it.

“Where…?”

A low, guttural noise turned into a yawn as the sheets around you moved, and you were being hugged tighter by two thick legs around your lower half you hadn’t noticed were there. Dettlaff’s muzzle was in your neck. You felt his breath- warm on your nape, then it went very cool. 

Was he drooling? Drooling _on_ you?

“Honey,” you turned to him, his large face so close and peaceful. The tips of his fangs peaking out just slightly as his lips twitched. His breath smelled sweet and comforting...it sent tingles down your body. You gently brushed your nose back and forth against his, “Dettlaff?”

His jaw clasped and his legs jerked. Then two, icy blue eyes fluttered open to meet yours.

“ _Maina!_ ” wrapping his arms around your head, he pulled you in closer with his legs and, minding your middle, gently rocked his body.

“Ah-ow,” you shouldered your ear from where he _shouted your name into it,_ before your face was effectively smooshed between the muscles of his chest.

Dettlaff continued to sway with you against his person, “Sorry.”

“I-s -kay,” your reply was muffled by his chest, and kisses were being addressed to every part of the top of your head. You started to giggle. “...-oney.”

“I am,” _kiss kiss._

“De--la-f…”

“So happy,” _kiss kiss._

Finally he loosened his hold, crookedly smirking at you in such a way that you just stared back. His nostrils were flared, smelling you. 

The sheets stirred on the other side of you, and a sweet herbal mixture filled your lungs, “I had a suspicion you might wake this morning.” 

Regis was rubbing his eyes, smirking, and you felt Dettlaff’s arm move beneath your back before the older vampire was pulled taut up against your shoulder. You blushed at the sight of his messy hair, and his sleepy eyes blinking slowly awake. Normally, Regis woke up before you or Dettlaff and was out of bed by the time you began to stir. In fact he almost _always_ did. _This_ was a treat. 

His chest puffed up just moments before his eyes closed and his jaw fell into an impossibly wide and needed yawn. You felt his arms stiffen at your side, and his legs go straight until his extremities altogether shook as he stretched. For a moment Regis could have been mistaken for an animal from the angle you were looking at him, his mouth full of predatory teeth all pointing in your direction. 

_How does their breath smell so sweet in the morning?_

“Pardon me,” he managed to get out when his mouth finally began closing, his arm relaxing against your side, the long fingers of his hand gently nudging yours and wrapping around it. 

“No need to pardon yourself at all,” you couldn’t stop taking him in. Regis seemed so...off guard right now, in his sleepiness. His dark, inlaid eyes peered over your body, the sight of which sparked a soft curving of his lips. 

You turned to Dettlaff, whose pupils were the size of saucers, and now that you were looking at him, you realized _you_ were just as excited to be awake as _he_ was for you to be awake.

“How are you feeling?” Regis asked.

“Where are we?” You wondered, then added, “and I’m feeling good..”

“Good.” Dettlaff smiled.

“Orianna’s.” Regis answered.

“Huh?” 

“Dun Tynne, that is.” 

“Oh,” you smiled, eyes going wide at her choice in decor.

“Ceeep,” an angry, persistent chirping came from beyond the mound of your legs. Dacreval crested the top of it, grumpily squeaking with each step he took. Regis reached out and gently guided the half awake, clumsy looking child down the slope of fabric. 

“He is mad at you,” Dettlaff blushed, looking ashamed. 

“What?!” your mouth fell. “Dacre, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t cry, darling.”

“I’m not!” you blinked quickly, crying. 

“Mmmhmm, Me-nah,” he planted his chin on top of your head, nuzzling you with the underside of his jaw.

“He’ll forgive you,” you could hear Regis’ amusement in his voice. Was it somehow more velvety and soothing right now? How was that even possible. Your face went red when he rested his head on your shoulder. Heartbeat pounding in your ear. 

You could get used to mornings with Regis.

“ _My_ ,” you heard him whisper, wondering if he’d noticed the change in your heart’s tempo.

“Ceep ceep _ceeeep…_ ” Dacre reached you and marched up your chin, “ceep ceep.” 

“Dacre,” Dettlaff’s throat bobbed against your head as he cooed at your little, fuming bat son, using his long fingers to delicately extract him from your cheek, “what did we say about sleeping on mom’s face?”

“Did you cut his hair, Regis?” You pat his furry red cheek as he rolled up on the tented sheet between your bosom and your baby bump. 

“Yes, he did,” Dettlaff came back into your vision and rested his head next to your own. 

“Did his ears grow?”

Regis’ snorted, dissolving into a few chuckles, the wisp of his hair tickling your jaw as his body danced gently next to you.

His ears were _huge._

“I don’t know why they keep growing,” Dettlaff looked at them, and gradually a smile framed his face, “but I enjoy them.”

“I, for one, can sympathize,” Regis added.

Dacreval seemed to be finished being angry with you, because he climbed the space back to your chin and started licking it. 

“Thank you, Val. I’m sorry I slept for so long. ….how long _was_ I out for?”

You enjoyed Val’s little groomings for a while before a surrounding energy brought your attention to Dettlaff. It looked like he was trying to figure out how to articulate something. 

Regis cleared his throat.

“All of yesterday,” his gravelly voice broke, and he closed his eyes. 

“It’s okay, Dettlaff. You didn’t know.”

“ _Iro nesci, Maina.”_ _I swear that I did not know._

You reached out and held his jarring cheek in your hand, thumbing the area around his closed eye soothingly, “Scio nescis, vele.” _I believe you didn’t, honey._

He nodded, and you wiped moisture from his skin.  
“Thank you, Maina.” 

_Was he starting to grin again?_

“You’re very welcome.”

He smirked, his chest broadening, “Dacreval missed you enough that he’s said father in both vampiric and common tongue, now.” 

“Dettlaff!” You pushed him for getting your hopes up, “What does that have to do with me?!” 

“Everything,” his deep bellow was rich as he laughed. He leaned in next to your ear, nibbling it with long fangs, “but he says mother now, too.”

“Oh,” your face heated from his closeness, “say it, Val!”

But Val only chirped and fluttered out the door. 

“Where is he going?”

“He flies after waking, here,” Regis replied, getting up to shut the door and returning to your side, “else he did the majority of yesterday.”

“Well, then,” you pouted. “What if he wants to get back in?”

“Orianna keeps her doors open,” he replied into your hair.

Dettlaff’s teeth grazed your neck, “May I?”

You swallowed, “yes.”

Dettlaff pushed his fangs into you below your jaw and ear, breaking skin. You gasped ever so slightly from it, and when you did, he responded by holding your neck firmly. A low sigh of relief came from him, after a tight inhale of his own. 

Regis’ pulse was growing on your shoulder, now, and he looked you dead in the eyes, before making up his mind, closing them and kissing you. His hand was venturing to your chest, and your nipple seemed hard already when you felt his fingers draw shapes around it, playing with your areolas...making you shiver. You felt yourself starting to breathe faster. His tongue dipped into your mouth and felt his forefinger and thumb slide to the hard tip of your nipple and pinch it, massaging the whole of your breast with the rest of his hand, kneading it.

It stung when Dettlaff sucked harder from your neck, and gently licked what escaped his lips with his tongue. Your eyes fluttered from the motion in which his energy was swirling around you - expanding and contracting like a heart. It was apparent that he was enjoying this _quite_ a bit. Your hands traveled...until they found two thick, eager erections formed under the top blanket. You felt their heads in the palm of your hands and the vampires shuddered - one after the other. Dettlaff whimpered over his fangs in your neck when you rubbed their shafts, Regis hand left your nipple and clasped you tightly by the labia, two of his fingers pushing against your clitoris as he began stimulating you.

Dettlaff inhaled sharply, sucking harder. It sounded like he was trying to form your name, but couldn’t completely. His breath was hot on your wet skin, and he gently removed your hand from his hard-on. He flipped you so that your back was to his front and, lifting your nightgown, stuck it in your pussy before you could have rejected it even if you wanted to. Dettlaff’s member filled you completely, pleasantly- the tip of him just getting to a point where it could be painful, but it was also still somehow pleasurable.

Regis’ stopped kissing you, lowering himself. You felt him take your nipple between sharp teeth, until he took the larger portion of your tit into his mouth. His teeth felt good against the bare skin of your bosom, and his tongue circled and flicked the hard tip of your nipple, made hot by his breathing. His other hand pressed and massaged your breast, helping the milk along as he started drinking from you, _milking you._

Dettlaff rolled his hips into yours, as you flexed your insides, tightening around him and feeling him thoroughly. You moaned, and he bucked halfway through it, making your voice turn wanton and needy. Regis nearly chirped, and you pulled him gently by the dick, guiding him upwards. 

“Let me suck you _off,_ ” you spoke through your moans, Dettlaff putting a hand over your mouth - not one of you wanting to be loud here, you felt, and you tried to stifle it. 

The larger vampire started bucking with less and less tempo, his fangs elongating in your neck from excitement. One hand gently held your full belly as if protecting it, the other now working your tit as if his life depended on it. “Dett _laff,”_ you moaned, starting to make yourself feel incredible, trying and failing to stifle all your noises.

Regis’ hands were soft as they caressed either side of his face where he now knelt in front of you, and Dettlaff’s arm perched you both up so that you were on your elbow, staring directly at Regis’ stiff cock. 

“My dear,” his voice was throaty and you encapsulated his head with your lips, and felt him shiver once, before gasping. As he did, an uncertain noise escaped him and he thrust his dick down deep into your throat, just as Dettlaff bucked his completely up into your pussy, nearly painfully. You gasped, gurgling on Regis’ cock.

Dettlaff’s noises were consuming your neck, and his hand replaced yours on your clitoris. You reached back and held his dark head of hair as he fucked you. 

Regis was holding your face more firmly now, and his eyes were on fire taking in the sight before him. He closed them, his brows pitching upwards in the middle, and he started bucking into you, holding your head where it was. 

You laid there being fucked in the cunt by Dettlaff, still rubbing you off, still massaging and _squeezing your breast._ Eventually you felt drippings of something wet from the end of your nipple, him massaging the milk form you, and choked, Regis firmly holding your head steady where he fucked your throat harder and _deeper,_ unable to stop his own heightened moaning.

A pain was beginning in your jaw, but you hardly noticed. You felt Regis’ balls beginning to hit your chin, and realized from his unsteadiness that he was about to cum. You closed your eyes, and he held your face directly against his groin, your nose up against his base, and came down your throat, as Dettlaff’s dick bucked into you, and his rubbing made your eyes flutter, lifting you to orgasm as Regis let go of you. 

But it wasn’t long before he was holding your face in a new way - his lips found yours and he started kissing you by the mouth, appreciatively humming as he did. Your hands found his hair immediately.

Dettlaff was starting to emit his own pathetically needy whimpers in your ear, still latched on, thrusting so hard that now sometimes it _did_ hurt. He began shaking, bucking erratically. His other hand held you in place between your legs, and you felt the warm release of his orgasm fill you, as his hot breath heated your neck. 

Dettlaff bucked himself into you for what felt like forever, his cum breaching and oozing from you, when he twitched and relaxed. Breathing heavily, but slowly on you. Regis gave you one last peck, and laid back, looking up at the two of you.

Your heartbeat was still recovering when you felt Dettlaff hold you gently in place by the jugular. He retracted his fangs from you and in one kiss cleaned the wound. His chest was lulling against your shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered in your ear.

“I love you too,” you smiled, feeling heady and a little high from it all, yet. “This was worth the sleep.”

The claws of Dettlaff’s hand were gently tracing your belly, his cock just now beginning to soften inside you.

“You are further along, now,” he swallowed, sounding happy, _feeling_ joyous.

“By a lot!” It came out louder than you intended, and looked down.

He chuckled, low and throatily in your ear, “Rohellec is the name?”

“You told him the news without me?” you asked Regis, who smiled crookedly. Still admiring the two of you. 

Dettlaff’s toothy grin widened, and a shiver ran down your spine at the number of sharp teeth on display, despite yourself. You beamed, going to lay on your back, which extracted Dettlaff’s cock from you, making him inhale quickly. Regis put his head on your shoulder, smelling your hair.

“There are several sundresses here for you,” you could hear the smile in Dettlaff’s voice when he said it. 

“Oh no,” you groaned, “I forgot how much you like those on me.”

“Regis, too,” he chuckled, lifting his head to give your face a steady stream of pecks.

“He’s quite right,” Regis’ nostrils flared.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you replied through them, before he popped up, out of bed, and walked to the dresser. 

“Suppose I should be off,” Regis planted his lips on you before also getting out of bed. Your face scrunched up.

“Where are you going, Regis?”

“To visit our indisposed monster hunter,” he gingerly buttoned his shirt, “not to worry, my dear. I shall return shortly.”

  
  


/\/\

The small, crescent shaped room had started to make the witcher feel claustrophobic, and after having meditated for nearly six hours, resorted to pacing. 

Then he just stared out the window.

“Didn’t even bother putting bars on it,” he looked at the incredibly long fall and wondered how sturdy this spire was.

In the room of the tower, he nearly had a three hundred and sixty degree view of Toussaint, and he at least could tolerate that. 

“You’re not always bad,” Geralt rested his cheek on his four knuckles, looking at the sloping hills, “could really work on your criminal justice system, though.” 

“I swear, I did!” A muffled voice came from beyond the door. A voice the witcher recognized as belonging to one of the two men that guarded him. He’d only heard them speak once or twice since being detained. He went quiet and focused on them, bringing his head in from the window and the sweet smell of the warm breeze.

“He was carrying around another love letter.”

Geralt stepped closer to the door.

The other guard groaned, “You and your romance, Lucan. _When will it end_?”

“I’m _serious_. Whenever he has one of those parchments in his vice he smells of a fine bouquet. I tell you, the captain is in love.” 

“I suppose you think that’s why he keeps making extra rounds on the palace grounds then too? Use your head! We have dirty, bloodsucking _monsters_ in Toussaint!” The guard sounded exhausted, “Besides, I was there last night and there was no smell in the air!”

“There wasn’t?” The man sounded disappointed, “Well usually there _is._ ”

At that, he stood back from the door and sat. It wasn’t long before a familiar, billowy cloud of smoke appeared, flowing into the small crescent room. It was a good thing humans have such poor hearing.

\/\/

_Swish swish._ You ran up and down the salmon pink fabric with one hand, carrying the basket filled with fruit in the other. Dun Tynne was located on an unreasonably resplendent plot of land, and everyone would have to be out of their minds if they thought you weren’t going to take a recovery afternoon and go explore the backyard. Your body felt slightly less comfortable, now, and you deserved to just _be pregnant_ for a change, damn it. No one knew exactly _why_ the baby had decided to just _grow_ , and Regis was putting all thoughts of Dettlaff’s blood having anything to do with it out of his mind (or so Dettlaff had explained while dressing you). In all honesty, it seemed as though Dettlaff secretly enjoyed the possibility that he contributed.

“Dacreval,” you squinted down from the harsh sun and caught him, jaws open, halfway to biting the next peach in the basket. A majority of the surrounding peaches all sporting exactly _one_ Dacre-jaw sized piece missing. “You have to choose one and eat it, okay?”

He twirled and chirped, giving you _the look._

Your head pulled back and you laughed, “No. No, no, no, no, _no_ . Eat _one._ ” 

Dacreval’s eyes got wide-- the deep black of them in this form huge and twinkling, and you watched as the bottom lip of his little snout _quivered._ You started laughing even harder. 

“Are you going to catch some crickets for your babas and I or not?” 

His oversized ears perked up, and after a few moments of peering over the side of the basket, was zooming off. 

You skipped up the steps of the patio, under the veranda’s cover and through the large open doors. Pierre was sitting cross legged on a chair sipping something that resembled fruit juice. His face was obstructed by a thick canvas that may have been a garment template, held upright in his hand.

_I can’t believe Geralt got himself arrested._

Just then Pierre stuck out his head.

“ _GAH_!” 

He was _incredibly_ sunburned. 

“Sorry!” You blurted, “I just, are you okay? Regis can probably make you some ointment.”

“I am used to it.” Pierre covered his mouth as he started laughing, nodding “it’s true, I burn like a katakan.”

That made you nod slowly. _Ohhhh._

You examined the large, open kitchen. Someone was obviously taking a break or had given up in the middle of cooking. You peered to the front living room, then back to your immediate right.

“Where’s Dettlaff?”

Pierre sighed and looked up at you, “He was making breakfast and became upset.”

You looked at the floor, a sheen of half cleaned yoke covering it. Your brows knit, and you looked at the katakan. “And?”

“And Orianna was teasing him about _that,”_ he nodded to the yoke, “while I may have been also talking, but about _this,”_ he held up the canvas, it _was_ indeed a layout for a doublet. He displayed it in front of himself again, admiringly, “and how very nice it would look on someone of his build and he turned all _angry_ and left.” 

Pierre pursed his lips before he let his body slip further into the chair. His butt was against one armrest and his shoulders the other, chin tucked uncomfortably to his chest by the time he added sadly, “poor thing.”

“It’s not your fault, Pierre.” 

He took a long breath and blew out his mouth. “I thought I was _good_ with sensitive things.” 

“Well,” you started looking around, a pang in your heart, “he’s just _extra_ sensitive. I’m sure he only went for a walk.” 

You found Val, who immediately latched to your nipple, and returned to find Pierre asleep in his chair... _somehow_ in the same position he was sitting when you left. You closed your eyes, and were about to do your damndest to feel more for Dettlaff’s energy when you heard the sound of a portal opening up.

“Yennefer,” Orianna’s richly cordial voice boomed. You opened your eyes and saw her walking into the front room, “good to see you. I should like to remind you, however, that I prefer being notified _ahead of time_ about visitors.” 

Yennefer strut into view, then came into the room. 

“How did you get Geralt to walk free?” You heard Orianna asked, puzzled. 

“It wasn’t an entirely legal arrest,” Yennefer replied, walking down the steps into the room you and Pierre were standing. She took a seat on a large, turquoise, cushiony circular number with a high sloping back. “I certainly don’t hate this chair.”

She sounded impressed and surprised, and Orianna quietly ragged to herself before walking over to you. 

“How are you, Maina?” She took your hands in her own without hesitation, “I’m sorry there wasn’t any food for you when you woke.”

She looked upset at herself. From what you witnessed at the festival, imagined that Orianna enjoyed playing the part of hostess. She probably did it deceptively for _years._

“I went in to Beauclair to get pastries, of course,” her eyes got squinty, and her mouth got smaller and more rounded as she sucked in air angrily, “ooooh, but those knights,”

“Ducal guard,” Yennefer corrected, picking invisible lint from her torso. 

“These were _knights,”_ she stated firmly. “They’re worrisome. I feel they…” she eyed Yennefer, and stopped. “I feel they’re all brutes.”

“Obviously it is time for new myths.” Pierre yawned, then also looked at Yennefer, “...er knight- I mean, _guard_ myths.” 

_New vampire myths?_ _Nice save._

The sound of boots clunking against the floor brought your attention to Geralt, who was walking into the room with Dacreval flying behind him. When he saw you, he gave you the biggest shit eating grin, and you couldn’t help but shake your head at him. His eyes found your middle and he made a face of faux repulsion, before tugging you by the arm down next to him on the couch. 

“Regis should be here soon. Glad you’re up...wasn’t expecting that.” 

His eyes scanned you again.

“Stop looking at me up and down like that.”

“Sorry, dude, but you’re like…” he looked around, Orianna had engaged in a conversation with Yennefer about her bakery experience while Pierre stared dreamily and suspiciously at the sorceress, “like really, _really pregnant.”_

“ _Tell me about it_ .” You leaned towards him, “I have _no_ idea what happened, but I’ve just _ballooned_.”

“How are your feet?” he scrunched up his scarred face. “Bet their fat.”

“ _Huge._ ” 

“Crying a lot?”

“Three times this afternoon, already.” 

He shut his golden cat eyes and nodded with a raised browline, impressed. “Yeah, well,” he pet Dacre before the babe leapt off into flight, taking advantage of the seemingly open door policy of the castle. “You’ll pull through.”

He said it with determination, and you didn’t know if you were going to snort at it or cry about it.

“So,” you started getting antsy to find Dettlaff, again, “what did I all miss?”

“Not entirely sure,” Geralt peered over at the others, “kinda curious about that myself, but...” His eyes went to the different parts of the room before he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you off the couch. He held a finger up at Pierre when he glanced, only partially listening to Orianna and Yennefer. 

“Uhh, Geralt,” you started as he stepped into the narrower hall towards the front dining room, “is something wrong?”

“Shhh,” he slowed to a halt, holding a finger up over his thin lips, his other hand gripped you by the shoulder. “Regis told me that Dettlaff _told him_ Damien was reading a letter,” he eyed you. “That he got from a flower box filled with fake flowers.”

“Uhuh,” you stared at him. Those hours in the tank seemed to have gotten him a little... _insane._

He put a hand through his hair, beginning to pace. “Then _I_ heard guards earlier today discussing how Damien smells like _flowers_ whenever he walks around with ‘one of those’ pieces of parchment.” 

_What the hell did I all miss?_

“Okay,” you tried to wrap your head around that, “so?”

“ _So_ , Regis went to check and they keep night blooming jasmine on the castle grounds.”

You scrunched up your nose, then remembered how Auguste’s body had smelled. _Oh. Fuck._

“In every flower box except for the one Damien got that note from.”

“So the box makes the letter smell?” You were getting anxious and looked down the hall.

“No, because both Regis and Dettlaff said the one box didn’t smell like anything.”

“And the flowers in it are fake?”

Geralt nodded.

“Who makes fake flowers?”

“I don’t know, that’s not really what I’m worried about right now, _Maina._ ”

“Is what you _are_ worried about the reason why we’re having this conversation in a hallway?” You realized this was weird shit, but you didn’t know why you had to section yourselves off from the rest of the group. Unless he suspected someone.

Geralt pursed his lips, as if he didn’t have a clear answer to that, and you both started making your way back to the others, “I’m worried about who has the _real_ flowers.”

“Do you think that’s who’s writing the letters?” You thought of the body and shivered. “We don’t even know what’s in the letters.”

“Why else would the letters smell like jasmine when the box doesn’t? And _what_ _do_ _you think_ is _in_ the letters?” He looked at you as if you were stupid, “After reading one Damien went running to his guards and told ‘em about how your _fiances_ can turn invisible whe-- _Shh_ ,” he hushed when you stepped down into the kitchen and back to the living room. The breeze from outside smelled wonderful... _no jasmine there._

“Maina, I’ve been informed you _glowed_ again,” Yennefer saw you walking in, “where _exactly?_ I need to know the circumstances.”

Orianna looked like she’d just been slapped in the face, and literally snapped her fingers at the sorceress.

“ _As I was saying,_ you’d earnestly have to ask him. It was only he and Regis who went. _I_ still had a festival to look after.” Orianna’s eyes wandered in the direction of the foyer, ’“Pierre, get back here.”

Pierre had apparently gotten up and was now halfway to the top of a staircase. He sighed, turned around, and started taking one very slow, clunky step at a time back down, visually grumbling to himself. 

_He_ did _say he doesn’t like sorceresses,_ you smirked ever so slightly, sitting back on the couch with Geralt.

“Have it your way, Orianna. Maina,” Yennefer bayed at you, “where’s Dettlaff?”

“Orianna upset him,” Pierre interjected, before letting himself deflate onto a chair. 

“I was actually in the middle of going to find him, when yo-”

“ _I_ upset him?” Orianna looked around, “Haven’s sake, _you_ were the one confusing him with the oddest come on I’ve ever witnessed a person try in all my life.”

Pierre was _appalled_ , “what did _I_ do? I love a good figure,” he pointed his hands in one direction, “to fit snugly” he pointed them in the other direction, “into my form fitting doublets. They’re sexy that way!” He threw up his hands altogether.

Orianna looked around at each of you, “See?”

You eyed the eggy sheen on the ground, feeling anxious.

“How did you upset him?” Geralt asked, obviously not feeling your unease.

“Well, he dropped some eggs,” Orianna bit her lip, and Pierre snorted, “then he turned into a, whatever those ugly as sin things they turn into are, sorry Maina,”

“You’re one to talk,” Pierre giggled.

Orianna’s gaze got wide at Pierre, eyeing the sorceress in the room. 

“Which way did he go?” you asked, beginning to get up.

“West, I think? His smoke trailed for a bit before he disappeared. He may still be on the grounds”

“I feel bad, really,” Pierre rested his cheek on his knuckles. 

“Well, I do too, damn it,” Orianna added, before crossing the room and smacking Pierre’s leg with a book so he’d sit up straight, then sat in the chair next to him. 

“Can you locate him and bring him back here, Maina?” Yennefer asked, “wouldn’t want him going on a rampage.”

You were starting to feel warm.

“He isn’t violent.”

“I _do_ recall him once telling me he’d tear out my throat if I dare do something or another,” she said, examining her fingernails.

“Dettlaff did tell me he’d _end_ _me_ ,” Orianna pursed her lips in contemplation and pointed her finger to a corner of the ceiling, “right up in that room last year.” She looked at Yennefer, “though knowing me last year, he _probably_ did it because I was being _terribly rude.”_

“I overheard him telling Maina he wanted to kill me,” Geralt’s voice was barely audible, “twice...” 

“He’s _not_ dangerous or violent.”

“My poor mirror thinks otherwise,” Pierre looked out the window, “how I loved that mirror...”

“...should’ve seen the way he used to look at me _before_ you came around.” 

“He gets overwhelmed.” You coughed, not being able to look Geralt in the eyes after that last one, “and when he’s overwhelmed he...I don’t know, needs to,”

“Lash out irrationally?” Yennefer suggested.

“Yennefer, _I_ am going to lash out irrationally at _you_ if you don’t stop instigating this.” You were feeling yourself starting to want to cry, and if you stayed a second longer you were going to blurt something out that would probably sound both stupid _and_ mean. So you turned on your heel and left.

 _Why didn’t you tell them to shut up sooner, Maina?_ _Morbid curiosity?_ You asked yourself, tears streaking your face as you walked to the front door. _You let this happen._

_Shut up._

When you got outside you saw Regis traversing the steps in the courtyard. His face went from elated to worried to upset in less than a second as he dropped the pouch he was holding and sprinted to you. 

“Maina? _Maina,”_ Regis’ voice shook as he collected you in his arms and the safety of it made you cry _harder_. 

“R’r’reg’g’is,” you prattled, _feeling_ better by his embrace but worse because you were allowing yourself to feel things. 

He squeezed you, rocking back and forth, and kissed the top of your head before he took your arms in his hands and ducked his head just slightly to your eye level. “What’s happened?” 

His eyes scanned your now sizable midsection, and the current of his chest quickened.

“It isn’t that,” you cried, “they upset Dettlaff, and then he left and I, and I know he just panicked, then everyone said mean things about him,” you sucked in air, and it sounded like a turret. Regis gazed down at you, his loving eyes becoming scary before he brought you back to his body, “or at least really hurtful things.”

“I’m terribly sorry I wasn’t here, Maina.” You felt his clawed fingertips massage your head, and found that his handsome scent was very soothing. 

He grabbed your jaw and kissed you _._ His chin planted firmly on yours; his nose snuggled up next to your own. 

“My dear, he is,” he pointed down the courtyard past the fountain, “there. Go to him and I shall be there with you shortly.” You nodded at his expectant stare, and he smiled, slightly, still rubbing your arms. You were breathing slower, now, you noticed. “We can return to the graveyard, now that you’re awake.”

“Why?” Your hand went to your bump; Regis looked too reserved, “was something dangerous there?”

Regis’ chest was rising, “Everything is fine. I only,” he swallowed, “that if anything happened to you, to you while…” he shook his head. “I’ll explain when we are home. Go to Dettlaff, mi oroas.”

 _Sunrise?_ You smiled. 

You hugged your surgeon-barber, feeling yourself wanting to just pull him with you, but let go.

/\\_<l>_/\

Regis watched Maina walk down the steps of the courtyard, the sun beginning to set, and smiled at the snot left on his vest. Then he worried, feeling his own nerves.

Their hormones were beginning to wear through the effects of his suppressant more quickly. The night before last he’d woken to an empty bed, and found Maina curled up in Dettlaff’s large, leather embrace in the face of the mountain. Scratched at his jaw below his facial hair, waltzing over to retrieve his dropped pouch. In the wee hours of _this_ morning, it had been _he_ who woke in the middle of the woods, wings wrapped around her - protecting her as if she were as fragile as an egg. He shook his head at himself. She _is_ fragile as an egg. That he was well aware, but...to be that little in control of oneself was embarrassing.

He turned to the front door of Dun Tynne castle, the content slowly slipping from his face and, replacing it, was something very sad and furious. 

“How embarrassed Dettlaff must feel,” he blinked.

The vampire walked into a room of people running through the specific definition and duties of _knight’s errant_ and _the ducal guard._ His jaw tensed at the portal that was just closing and the lack of _Yennefer_ present.

“Would any of you care to expatiate on how I came to find one of my dearest deeply pained and crying on the facade of this elaborate, architectural burden?”

Orianna winced, staring daggers into him, “Architectural _burden?”_

Geralt made eye contact with the vampire, before his catlike pupils darted around the furniture before him, realizing what it had been that upset her.

“Had truly _not one_ of you suppositioned that would be the outcome?” Regis’s grip on his cross strap tightened, though his velvety voice remained level. “That Maina should be hurt were you to continually, the _three of you,_ articulate Dettlaff’s shortcomings in front of her and at _this late hour_ of gestation? Has your age finally left you all in a state of mental retrograde? She is _hormonally_ pregnant. I feel no remorse in entertaining that each of you are iniquitous _fucks -_ current until proven otherwise.” 

“Regis, we weren’t insulting him, honestly,” Geralt piped up, grumbly. 

“Is that the line _you’ve_ drawn in the sand for Maina and her feelings? I’m sorry Geralt, but you don’t get to prescribe parameters to someone else’s experience.” The vampire adjusted his bag, “Where’s Yennefer?”

Geralt sighed at Orianna and Pierre, who looked annoyed with Regis more than any parts remorseful, before stating, “She left. Said she didn’t have time for ‘this’ at the moment and would be back after taking care of something in Kaedwen.”

The vampire stopped investigating his pouch, “Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt shrugged, and one of his brows dipped in question, “Didn’t say.”

“Well then, now that you’re out law enforcement’s grasp and their suspicions of me living in the graveyard have been cleared, it’s time we take our leave of Dun Tynne. I’ll see you all soon, I’m sure.”

He turned and walked back towards the door.

/\\_<l>_/\

-

Dettlaff was sitting against the backdrop of a gorgeous sunset with his butt resting up against a well, looking at his hand, now and again glancing at Dacreval trot around in clumsy circles at his feet. 

He didn’t say or look up at you when you approached him. He felt...disappointed. You wiped any remaining tears from your face before speaking. 

“Dettlaff,” you started, and saw him purse his lips. “Dettlaff?”

He closed his eyes, and started shaking his head. Dacreval was still trotting in circles when his dad’s shoulders started to bob up and down. 

“Oh, honey,” you felt your heart tighten and reached out to him. Immediately the large man melted into your arms, and started to cry. “Honey, it’s okay.”

You pat him on his back near the shoulders. His energy stung; it felt hopeless. 

“What’s wrong?” you rubbed his back, “What happened?”

Slowly you felt Dettlaff’s arms go around you and hug you back. You cooed, patting him on the head. 

“Is this about earlier?” 

He held you tighter and nodded. 

“It’s okay that you aren’t good around people, Dettlaff.” 

“They are my kind, Maina,” his voice was hoarse. 

You didn’t really know what to say to that...then you did.

“They’re both pains in the ass,” you kissed him. “I think you were great at the event, by the way.”

“I don’t understand why it is so difficult,” he spoke into your shoulder, “for me.”

“I’m so sorry,” you rubbed his back. You knew you couldn’t fix his hurt or ease, but you could try some. “It takes some time to get to know others. Everyone feels that way.”

You stood holding him for a short time, until his head started to feel weighty on your shoulder, and eventually he started to nuzzle you. He seemed to relax after doing that for a while. Finally, he stood straight and kissed you. His soft, light eyes certain of you.

Then he went to lift up Val, who mid-flimsy-trot-kick decided to evade being picked up by transforming and flying around more. _He was getting fast at that._ Dettlaff turned back to you, his face stony again, and stated, “Our son is becoming rebellious.” 

He was looking at you accusingly. 

“What?” 

“I wasn’t rebellious.” 

“Dettlaff!” you laughed, covering your mouth. He chuckled, some of the sadness leaving him. The large vampire came to you and, with an effort to not pick your pregnant body up the same as he normally did, took your hand and sat at the bench. Dacreval’s zooming became more intense as the crickets started to sing around in the new oncoming night. 

“Care if I join?” Regis’ velvet voice kissed you a moment before his lips did, and both you and Dettlaff snorted when he stood in front of the bench and slapped at your shoulders for the middle seat. 

“Are you kidding?” You looked up at him, “No way.” 

“Then you should find my lap to your liking,” Regis gave you a tight smile and sat, scooping you up under the knee and armpit, bringing you in close to him. Dettlaff scooted nearer, and you were sitting on both their laps, now, really. 

“See?” you told him, the three of you watching Dacre, “This is better.”

“Hmmm,” Dettlaff hummed. 

Regis gave you a small laugh, “alas, I suppose it could be worse.”

He kissed your cheek. 

A beat.

You heard two sets of vampires sniffing. 

“Does something smell _off_ to you?” Regis asked. 

Before you, you saw Dacreval dive headfirst down into the well. 

“Dacre! Not _there,”_ you yelled, running up to it and peering into it. You listened.

A tiny chirp came up. _Fuck that thing is deep._

“Maina,” Dettlaff began, and you could hear concern in his voice. Now that you peered down at the bore, there _was_ something that smelled off. 

It smelled like death and jasmine. 

Without thinking, you calmed yourself, opened the door to Krael’ef and closed your eyes, imagining what the bottom of the reservoir would look like. Thunder crackled in the air, after lightening. _It’s storming here, again._ Before you felt yourself ready or prepared, you started experiencing the uneasy sensation of falling. When it stopped, you opened your eyes to see the bottom of the borehole.

“There has got,” you panted, your heart felt like it was going to explode, “to be a better way of doing that.” 

Your hairs rose when you realized that what you were actually standing in, was a tunnel. A familiar tunnel. You looked around, the hole Yennefer had made when you first found Auguste’s body was not but ten feet from you. 

_This is where the shaelmaar’s tunnel led us to?_ Your brows knit. _Under Dun Tynne?_

You scanned the ground.

_Did she say she moved the body?_

It was not in its place, but a terrible amalgam tickled your nose, and you opened the exit and jumped through it out of Krael’ef. The tunnel on this side _reeked_ of human remains and cloy florets.

Dacreval landed on you, and you gripped him to your chest, cupping him from the sensory information of the burrow the best you could. There, back resting against the side of the cave, was a much decayed Auguste. 

You screamed, if you could call it that. Despite knowing that what you were going to see, you still screamed from it. Gasping, you closed your eyes from the sight. He was too close and too far from looking like a human for you to be okay with.

“Maina,” Two sets of voices and hands went to your shoulder and you jumped.

“Maina, we need to leave,” Regis urged, and you heard the clamor of armor and horses above.

“I’ll take Dacreval,” Dettlaff managed, lips touching your cheek, but you only barely took notice.

“Orianna?” It came out a whisper, and you couldn’t tell yourself how or why you felt this sting as intensely as it did. _Had she relapsed?_

You didn’t have time to think more on it before the remaining hand gripping your shoulder tightened and you disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's: graphic depictions of sex between a human and two vampires, lactation/milking/breast feeding a partner, face fucking, blood sucking...semen? Oh damn, a corpse. A very rotten corpse.


	21. A Legacy of Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt shows up to the crypt to deliver a note to Maina from Yennefer. Dettlaff and Regis appear worse for wear, and Maina is very, very pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's at the end...they're pretty spoilery.
> 
> This is a shorter chapter. I'm working more now, but have three day weekends and I'm hoping to write more tomorrow. It made more sense to have what's in this chapter be it's own thing.
> 
> There's a piece of art in here, too! Finished it so it’s no longer yeehaw.

Geralt stood at the facade of the Crow Building, rapping on the door. Last week’s occurrence at Dun Tynne had been downright unforeseen, and he had thought it best to keep his distance from the family- at least for a few days. In all truth, not even he had been expecting to get swept up in it - he’d stayed at the castle just long enough for the sun to set completely, but wasn’t able to smell anything cloy. Though he _hadn’t_ ruled out Orianna, he _had_ been caught off guard once the authorities rode in. The witcher shifted his feet on the soft dirt, making to knock again. When the dilapidated door creaked open, he let out a small huff of air at who was standing on the other side. 

“Dettlaff,” he held up a small piece of parchment smelling faintly of lilac and gooseberries, “need to give this to Maina.”

“You’ll find her in the study,” the dark haired vampire’s nostrils twitched, whatever he smelled made his eyes narrow and his brow furrow ever so slightly. The small, redheaded child held against his waist babbled what sounded similar to vampiric, happy to see his uncle, and the witcher pinched one of his little cheeks between his thumb and forefinger as he ambled past, making towards the deepest room of the crypt. 

He heard the door shut behind him, before Dettlaff spoke- the half smile worn from Dacreval’s playful demeanor fading, “She is upset about Orianna.”

Geralt nodded, knowing full well that Maina would be. Suspicious as he was of Orianna, for her to lose control and take civilians in the manner she had seemed severe, though that was known to happen from time to time, given what she was. “Yeah, hadn’t taken Orianna for the reckless Bruxa type.”

Dettlaff did not seem surprised that the witcher knew Orianna’s true nature, something Geralt wouldn’t admit he found himself appreciating. Upon reaching the furthest door in the burrowed hallway, he heard voices coming from inside the room and opened it to see Regis and Maina sitting on the chesterfield sofa- the only comfortable seating in the entire damn room. He supposed he would just lean his butt up against something.

Regis looked up at him, eyes flickering to Maina, who was so absorbed in the missing persons portraits that she hadn’t looked up at her friend. She appeared incredibly pregnant to the witcher, a last thought before Regis ushered him out of the room. 

“Well?” Geralt asked, looking at the closing door as if he could see through it. “What’s up with Maina? Is that all over Orianna?”

Regis looked more tired than Geralt could remember. He peered back at Dettlaff, and noticed that the taller vampire, like Regis, too had dark circles under his eyes, cheeks hollower. 

“I’m afraid she’s rather upset from it,” Regis wiped his face with his hand, guiding Geralt into the kitchen to speak.

Their teeth were pointier than usual, too. 

The witcher was only slightly surprised when Dettlaff and Dacreval joined them at the breakfast nook - the child began babbling “othi” over and over again until his father handed him to his Tosi. Geralt took him without question, and the toddler resumed his playing with a skillfully crafted wooden symbol. The witcher knew it to be a letter from the vampiric alphabet, and despite himself, found the corner of his mouth furled upwards.

Regis, who familiarly worked his temple with his fingertips, spoke. “We need a way to calm Maina down from all of this.”

No, the barber-surgeon looked _incredibly_ tired - in fact Geralt thought he looked much more worn than Dettlaff, now that he saw them together in the proper light of the kitchen window.

“I should say that it’s rattled her further than and in a manner of which I’m uncomfortable with.” 

Geralt’s forehead grew tight, “how do you mean, _uncomfortable?”_

“He means he's convinced himself her confidence in us has been shaken,” Dettlaff yawned flatly, his teeth currently less sharpened and pointed than his partner’s. It was obvious he didn’t completely share Regis’ concern, though Geralt could see some sadness in his expression. 

“Confidence in you?”

“Yes, Dettlaff is mostly correct. Though this has solely impacted her confidence in _me_ ,” his hand went on to massage his brow, now, “what, with my -- how shall we name it, _spotted past._ ”

“Maina loves you, Regis,” Dettlaff’s timbre was hard and steadfast, “she merely is _concerned_ in a way that she has not been in some time.”

“She thinks you’re going to relapse?” Geralt pat Val on the head as the child gnawed the wooden symbol. It wasn’t until this moment, when the older vampire looked at him, that he noticed his eyes were bloodshot. 

“It seems hormones, of all things, were masking my bloodlust for a time,” his nostrils flared in a surly manner. “Since our pregnancy’s recent advancement, however, I find myself quite thirsty, _indeed .”_

“For whose blood?”

“Why _hers,_ of course,” he steepled his hands together before they balled to fists. He squeezed once before relaxing them completely, seeming to find a relative calm once more. “She’d found a friend and then lost her. _Whose_ blood I lust after isn’t enough to settle her fears.” 

Geralt watched Dacre’s wobbly legs as he scaled the bench to his dark haired father, who was nodding in agreement to Regis’ last sentiment. 

“Your stance on Damien hasn’t wavered?” 

Now it was _his_ turn to be exasperated, the witcher thought. He tightened his silver studded gloves before looking up at Regis. He’d spoken to them about this several times before, and though he now understood the _why_ behind their persistence, thought it was well beyond time for them to just accept the situation.

“I’ve told you,” he began slowly, “dopplers aren’t violent. They’re difficult to control because of how elusive they are, and they’re rare in the south. If anyone was able to actually control one around here, I’d say it would have been Orianna...but seeing as how she was _arrested_ by _Damien._ ” He grunted. “Not to mention she was the one who accused him of it." He folded his arms, "Was never convinced in the first place, I’ve told you this.”

Neither the vampires moved, having known very well that this would be the answer. 

-

You looked over the portraits of the missing civilians and weren’t altogether shocked that the third victim’s shirt had two buckles fastening the collar together - identical the buckle you’d found in the tunnel under Dun Tynne. The other was probably with his body, wherever Orianna took it. Probably hidden somewhere in the labyrinth, you’d expect. Somehow, it only made it worse. It was difficult for you to make sense of it, and it was harder for you to deal with than you’d been expecting. You _liked_ Orianna...or at least you thought that you had. 

Rolling the buckle over in your hand, you swept to the desk. Halfway there, an odd sensation occurred in your middle. _Was that a flutter?_ The sensation happened again. _Is it gas?_ You put your hands on the desk and remembered the feeling, now. It was _kicking_. You smiled, looking down at your belly as your one hand fished through the top middle drawer of Regis’ desk - the one you understood to be used for old mail and stationary. 

_There._

“So maybe I’m having trouble coping,” you told yourself, as you turned the tightly rolled, completely white parchment - something you’d rarely seen before - over in your hand. You opened it - the script was elegant and professional. “But, there’s nothing wrong with being thorough.”

Fighting a frown, and with an unsteady hesitance, you lifted Orianna’s old invitation to your nose and were met with a recognizable, overwhelmingly saccharine smell. Tears were welling in your eyes when you threw it down on the top of the desk, which barely made a noise by the light impact, and huffed back over to the sofa. Your feet hurt. 

The door creaked open, and Geralt entered. When he turned around to close the door, he made a shooing gesture to the unseen vampires in the hallway. You didn’t look up at him when he sat next to you with uncharacteristic _caution._

“A little bouncing won’t hurt the baby, Geralt.” 

“Sometimes I just sit like that,” his voice was utterly _drenched_ in sarcasm. He was smirking when you looked at him, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Here, take it.” 

You looked down at the parchment he shoved in your hand.

“Feel free to read it now, if you want.” 

It was obvious that he wanted you to read it, now.

You unfolded it and held it out so that your nosy companion could enjoy whatever orders and cryptic information Yennefer chose to disclose or, more accurately, chose not to disclose. It read:

>   
>    
>    
> 
> 
> _Maina,_
> 
> _Duty called me to the North. Do consider the locations and exact circumstances in which you luminesced. It is pivotal to your safety, and the safety of the south, that we understand its causation. I will speak to you more on this when we next meet. Until then, I urge you not to enter Krael’ef._
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _Yennefer of Vengerberg_
> 
>   
>    
>    
> 

The two of you stared at it, until finally Geralt grunted, “huh.”

-

“So, uh, how’s your friend?” Geralt asked as he stoked the fire, looking only slightly uncomfortable watching Regis give you a foot massage as you fed Dacre, back resting snugly against the broad chest of an upright, sleeping Dettlaff. 

You felt a pang in your heart, and Regis eyes darted to you before he cut in.

“Not entirely well,” he sounded sad. Regis sounded sad a lot lately, and you thought he could tell how worried about him you’d become since the arrest, and his increase in thirst. His clawed hands molding your feet like putty, and despite it hurting every so often, was overall euphoric. “When I picked up our wedding attire, and our dress for La Fête de la Musique, he seemed completely aloof. It was evident that he’d been crying, and the customer who arrived prior to myself was complaining about her garments being late. He looked as if he would break down right there, had I not intervened.” 

“What did you say?” Geralt asked.

“I assure you it was nothing substantial, but it did persuade her to leave.” 

“Alright, well,” the witcher rose, “poor guy.” 

He excused himself to the washroom, and you heated under Regis’ observance out of the corner of your eye - the dark pools of his eyes swirling in the light of the fire. You blinked, but he didn’t relent until you met his all-encompassing gaze. Your throat went dry. 

“I assure you, my dear,” he licked his lips, and a row of teeth - pointier and more dagger-like than you’d ever seen them in his human form - peeked out from underneath as he did so, “I can handle this delivery.”

You knew it was going to come out sharp. 

“The both of you had told me the blood of your Acern Ara _wasn’t_ addicting,” you scolded, feeling your face heat, “and so then, Regis, _why_ is it that you can’t seem to get mine _off of your mind?”_

In his eyes you saw something flash, and you almost regretted your words. Closing your eyes, you reached out to him with the hand that wasn’t holding Dacreval. 

“I-I’m unsure,” his voice was suddenly thick. You waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. A burning sensation ignited in your heart. 

“I’m sorry, Regis,” you squeezed his forearm. 

He pursed his lips, and just as he did, you felt a _different_ sensation. Still gripping his forearm, you lifted his large, clawed hand to your belly, and felt the two of yours baby _kick._ The wings of the vampire’s nose flared, and his lips parted. 

“Maina,” was what he whispered before two deep, dark eyes peered up at you, “Maina, this is…”

The baby kicked again, and Regis inhaled. Slowly, he placed his other hand on your bump. His lips pursed again but in an entirely different fashion. You saw the ridge of his neck dip, and when he rested his ear against your belly, you found yourself running your hand through his hair. 

“This is such a unique feeling,” Regis’ words were still a whisper. 

It was at this time that Geralt burst back into the room, mouth full of a sweet cheese bread you’d been looking forward to finishing. He gulped when he saw the look you were giving him, probably misinterpreting it for him _interrupting a moment._

Just then, a pain struck you in your middle and you gasped. 

_Oh for fuck’s sake, ouch._

Immediately Dettlaff was awake and had his arms around you; Regis had literally disappeared and Geralt swiftly picked Dacreval up out of your arms and took him into his room. Dettlaff kissed your cheek, “Breathe, darling.”

Then Regis was back in the room, getting to one knee and looking you in the eyes. He was holding something in his hand, and had a leather wrap tucked underneath his arm that you recognized from your last delivery. You sucked in air from another bout of contractions, just when you had been thinking that you might get whiplash from the group's modus operandi alone.

“Regis,” you breathed, before wincing in pain again, “ahh…” 

_Fuck fuck fuck._

“Maina,” he cupped your cheeks in his hands, “dear, I’m going to inject this, now. You will do wonderfully.”

He kissed you on your lips, and you immediately felt calmer. Then he stuck you with the needle, and you barely had time to react to the pinch of it before you lost consciousness. 

-

You woke up, blinking. The sheets were slightly damp, from sweat or otherwise. Dacreval was lying curled up on your clavicle, his furry body pushed against your cheek with every breath. You lifted your head - it was dark outside. The crackling of the fire gave you comfort. A large body was nearly wrapped around the side of you; from the smell of cedarwood and a sharp musk, you didn’t have to peer over to know it was Dettlaff. His skin was somewhat dewy, and for a moment you found yourself again awed that he did not care about your sweat and blood that dampened the bed linens. 

...Because even you kinda did.

Dacreval stirred when you sat up, then, the door opened and Regis entered the room. He looked...somewhat different. He was still absolutely exhausted looking. In fact, he looked thirstier and worse off than you’d ever seen him in his life. He looked _worse_ than he had before you delivered, but he also looked happier than you ever remembered seeing him. 

In his arms he was transfixed by your child, and came to sit by you. When he did, your heart settled - despite not having recognized that it had been beating so terribly. 

“Are they healthy?” You asked, not being able to see them quite yet. 

Lips lightly brushed the side of your face as Regis handed you your newborn, and he whispered, “she’s perfect, my dear.” 

Regis slid beneath the bed-sheets and was gingerly bringing you to lay back against his front. He did it so swiftly that he nearly had his arms around your sides by the time you looked down at the swaddled thing of your and his making. 

She was absolutely beautiful, and fast asleep. 

Regis’ arm wrapped around your tender middle, the thumb of his hand caressing you gently, and with his other, pointed to her nose. You could feel his lips moving as he quietly began, “she has your little button nose, see?”

His voice was rich and animated - his breath as warm and inviting as his embrace. 

She did have your nose, and you felt your chest breathe like an ember as you swallowed at how precious she was. Then, he gently touched her bottom lip with the sharp nail of his thumb.

“And your spectacularly pouty, stubborn lips,” he chuckled, his arm constricting around you ever so slightly. “She looks just like you.”

He sounded incredibly proud. 

“Is she?”

“She’s a True Higher Vampire, and I have no doubt human as well,” he swallowed. “She will grow quickly.”

“Her arm,” you looked at one of her appendages - it was not developed into a full hand, but rather only partially. It was quite a bit smaller than the other, and appeared almost shriveled.

“I assure you Maina,” Regis seemed anxious by this, “she will have little issue with it.”

You squeezed his arm with your free hand, hardly having heard him over the sight of your newest family member. She was so tiny. 

“Rohellec,” you whispered, and her eyes slowly fluttered open, then closed. She had two strikingly dark brown eyes - and unless you were mistaken, a portion of the left iris was icy blue and yellow. You had to stop yourself from giggling loudly because, staring at her, you thought she looked _exactly like her dad._ “She has your eyes, Regis.” 

Your torso rose with his breathing. 

“Do you really think so?”

You nodded, looking at the small, strikingly dark tufts on her nearly bald head, “and your hair.” 

Regis’ seemed to be holding his breath, now. 

“And your fingers,” you looked at how thin and lithe they were, “not to mention your gorgeous chin.” _Look at her,_ you thought, _she's absolutely perfect._ "Her cheekbones are her father's, too, sweetheart." 

“Maina,” he held you with both hands, now, his facial hair tickling your ear. 

“Regis,” you replied quietly, and felt him quake.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's: uhh contractions that's about it. There's childbirth but it isn't described.


	22. Week Hiatus / Update

Hello, you beautiful babes!

Just found out I can't get a refill on an important med and I generally get pretty bad headaches without so I will mostly be drinking water this next week, hahaha. I'll finish the next chapter up after. 

Cheers and Good Luck On the Path until then. <3


	23. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maina deals with hormonal boys. She also takes a bath with her children.
> 
> "Dacreval was quite fed up with the idea of having to wear anything at all - his little human butt could be seen wiggling back and forth as he jogged up and down the hallway singing short, vampiric songs you and Dettlaff had invented to help him remember to get dressed in the first place."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm back lmao
> 
> CW's at the end along with some kind of funny end notes! Enjoy! X"D

After having Rohellec, it set in that you were absolutely, unreservedly, unequivocally, the mother of bats, the mate of vampires. You had never felt it more so than you did now. 

Your daughter could fly with her small wing, a sight that had bent you into near hysterics as you watched her leap into the air and with great effort, propel herself through it. Floating with one half like a hummingbird before you, Dacreval’s dark eyes watched as if he were to swoop up and catch her if needed. She had the smallest, wrinkliest little form she’d take on when she was hungry, her vampire form. She was so small yet that it looked rather ridiculous, but it set your heart on fire. Dacreval himself had had a growth spurt in the few short weeks since Rohellec had been born, and was speaking in partial sentences, blushing often, off of breast milk, and amazed by his sister. 

They were very obviously not human, and you became constantly and consistently more amazed at how independent vampire children were. In their human forms they were still quite clumsy and childlike in a way that you were familiar with, but in their vampiric forms they were adept and robust. It seemed together they were already bonded. You could hardly get Dacreval to do anything without his sister, and his sister would chirp for him if he was gone for too long. You were proud of your son for turning into the big brother that you, Dettlaff, and Regis had hoped he would. Dacreval taught Rohellec where and how to catch crickets, along with other bugs, though it took her small, learning body more effort. They would be gone for hours, always returning, both Regis and Dettlaff able to sense their nearness, their safety. You were grateful for their independence.

There were other vampires who seemed to be relying on you, and not in ways that were readily fine to witness by your children. You were no longer pregnant, and both of your vampires were experiencing an intense heat because of it. 

Regis was thirsty for your breast milk. He'd often wait for you to finish feeding Rohellec before chomping at the bit himself. He would tear at your clothing, push you against a surface and suck you dry, entering you and making a mess of you in the process. Dettlaff would pick him up and take him, fucking him while stroking him to a more relaxed state just to help calm the vampire. Sometimes, if not completely exhausted by his pursuits, you would join, riding the barber-surgeon as you felt the rutting of the larger vampire at the base. More than once you used oil and Regis’ own strap-on contraption to tame the balding vampire while Dettlaff drove himself into the man’s mouth. 

Dettlaff would laugh afterwards when you were alone, joking that if he gets like that at Regis’ age, for you to subdue him for your own safety. Your heart panged at his beautiful face when he looked to you with such reliance and loving- with such _need_ , wondering whether or not he truly believed you would live that long. 

But Dettlaff’s ability to make light of Regis’ situation met an end. Shortly prior to your first bleeding after the birth, by the flick of some internal switch of his body, he became afflicted with the same crazed behavior for you. Dettlaff had also been waiting for his turn, and wanted you to mother his children with a ferocity that often scared you. Scared you into desperately asking him to take you.

It never felt more like you were the mother of and mate to vampires than it had now, and something in your body desperately, _desperately_ wanted more of it. You didn’t let yourself think about the perturbing implications of _why that was._

You were in your room, helping Rohellec detach from your nipple when you felt the eyes of someone watching, only to see Regis’ pitch black eyes observing you from the door frame. 

“May I?” The man’s velvety voice was difficult to say no to, his expression genuinely unsure of what your answer would be. How could you say no to him? You wanted him, too. 

“Of course, Regis.” 

In an instant he was on you, your nightgown thrown over your head and across the room. You felt the claws of his hands embed themselves around the cushiony mass of your ass, lifting you up. His eyes darted to his unassuming child, and briskly carried you through the bedroom door and into the hallway. Your back slammed up against the wall just short of hurting as Regis latched onto your breast, sucking, eyes closed. Your small clothes were torn, _again,_ and the tender, firm head of his cock forced its way into you. He began to rut. You cried out, and he unmistakable whimpered, fucking you in a craze against the wall until he came, and detached from your breast. 

Emiel Regis was stroking the back of your head, kissing your neck while he bucked out the last of his euphoria into you. His breath was hot. 

“Maina,” his voice was still full of desire, “seeing you mother our child drives me mad.” 

“I know,” you found yourself smiling as he twitched inside of you, before pulling out. He still had you pinned against the wall. 

“I love you,” his teeth nibbled on your ear, and his hand rubbed you to completion as he whispered all the ways in which he desired to take you.

After you came against the man he set you down, and fixed you a bath, frowning. 

“The crypt is becoming cramped for us to reside here full-time, I realize,” his lips pursed. 

You watched him as he stood from the tub, gazing outside at the sunny graveyard and the vampire pups that flew through it. Then, Regis turned and crossed the room to you, kissing you by the cheek. “I’m unsure of how I will resist you in public, Maina.” 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way, sweetheart,” you reminded him sternly, giving him an amused but flat look, and the adorable old bat bit his lip, hair still disheveled from his uncontrollable desire to breed with you. 

It was as if now that he’d made you a mother once, he needed to do it again, immediately. 

“I’ll open up the estate today,” Regis grabbed for his bag on a brass hook he’d placed in the wall, his face contemplative, tight about the browline. “Though I should say that staying here now and again might be nice for the children.”

You chuckled as he walked out, “yes, for the children.”

First, you opened the window to the bedroom, then you lowered yourself into the bath. The warm water was soothing, and you pushed out sad thoughts of Orianna, which became easier to do when your children came swooping in from the outside. Rohellec was chirping and clinging to the furry back of Dacre. 

“Oh!” A bubbling filled you and you laughed, “Yes, yes, I’m right here.” 

Dacreval landed on your shoulder and made himself comfortable, and you could feel Rohellec’s tiny hooked wing and clawed feet trudge their way up your head through your hair. 

“How was flying?” 

Dacreval eyed the water- something your children were both incredibly weary of while in their vampiric forms. 

“It won’t hurt you, honey, I promise.”

You also found that both of your children enjoyed the same pet names as their fathers. 

Val’s eyes narrowed as he stared up at you, and you threw your head back, laughing, Rohellec’s chirping audible from where she happily tangled herself in your thick red hair. 

“Well, go ahead, then. Change and join me.” 

Another peculiarity about vampire families and particularly, you imagined, ones where a vampire as bestial as Dettlaff were involved - was the subject of nudity. 

Which was currently running rampant in this family. Dacreval was quite fed up with the idea of having to wear anything at all - his little human butt could be seen wiggling back and forth as he jogged up and down the hallway singing short, vampiric songs you and Dettlaff had invented to help him remember to get dressed in the first place. The only thing you, Dettlaff, or Regis managed to get through to him was to not run outside on the path naked. It made you wonder how his father was at that age. 

You wanted Dacreval to be well socialized with people, so that he did not have to live with the same fear and uncertainty of them as his father. Yet, you wanted him to know, to understand to the very core of him that the things that made him vampire were not things to be ashamed of. They were things to be celebrated.

The more you thought about it, the more _balance_ came to mind. 

Regis was right, the crypt was cramped, and living in Beauclair would teach them the importance of privacy amongst humans, but that it is _okay to live amongst them_ , whilst regularly making trips to stay at the crypt would teach them that embracing their vampiric nature, with caution, was healthy.

A spritz of water hit you about the face as Dacreval’s bat-like body took a surprisingly bold plunge in the water, and came up a small, naked child with a head of fire-red hair. 

He lowered his face so that only his eyes were above the water, a maneuver you knew well.

“Val,” you started, and from the bubbles that surfaced in front of his face, knew he had begun giggling. “Val,” your voice was stern, “do _not_ splash with your sister on my head.”

The boy’s eyes squinted in glee, and you crossed your arms. He relented, and sat up in the tub, a small pout on his lips, “fine.”

You stifled a snort at the sullenness of it. 

He was watching his hands just below the surface, his long fingers moving back and forth before he swam over and climbed up onto your lap, floating buoyantly.

“Did you try Regis’ new sweet rolls?” 

He nodded yes. 

“Are you excited to see your Tosi?”

“Yeah!” Val turned, “Mama, ‘ohellec can walk on the trees.”

“She can?” You smiled, washing his hair. Rohellec chirped, though you doubted she understood.

“Yeah,” he wiped his nose with his hand, and two strikingly blue eyes peered up at you as he smiled, “like this.” 

He made a walking motion with his fingers, and you pretended to be surprised, genuinely laughing. 

Not only that, you were proud of her.

Your head turned to the door a moment before Dettlaff filled the frame of it. 

His eyes widened at the sight of you and, much like his son, eagerly disrobed himself before joining you in the tub. As he started washing your hair like you had washed Val’s, Rohellec fluttered to the top of his mass of black hair. 

“Baba ‘ohellec can walk on trees!” Val climbed over you to his father. 

“Can she now?” His deep voice was filled with mirth.

“It is quite extra-ordinary,” you smiled, the concentric circles being drawn on your head by thick nails was soothing you. Dettlaff’s energy was calmed, but fiery, and as the four of you sat in the bathtub together, his breath started heating your neck. His energy became more and more _intense._ You started suspecting his desires. 

  
  
  


Later in the evening, after Geralt came and picked up your children for a few days worth of uncle fun - pretending to be revolted by the breast milk you handed him and pretending to be exhausted of your instructions with a “Maina, you are such a mom all of the sudden” - you went to spend time with Mers in his enclosure. Brushing him this time of day was peaceful, and he nudged you by his large, dark head. You could feel the energy of Dettlaff scalding from the crypt, and you wondered if it was coming to a head. 

You picked your things up, and walked inside. 

Regis was still opening the estate in Beauclair, you gathered. You could feel Dettlaff’s scalding for you seeping through the walls as you walked to the study. You didn’t know how much longer you were earnestly going to be able to take both of the vampire’s advances at this rate. 

You sighed, standing in Regis’ library. 

“Breathe, Maina, you can do this,” you told yourself. From what you observed, you had a good idea of what was going to happen. 

You could tell it was becoming a thought, in Dettlaff’s mind. How he would try it. 

The chesterfield sofa stared at you. You sat on it, beginning to play with yourself until you became just excited enough that you could feel Dettlaff cracked. The fire of his aura burned you as he threw open the door to the crypt. 

The large, masculine vampire crossed the room, picking you up in his large hands before you could even stand. His lips engulfed yours. You felt the ropey muscle of his jaw with your palm as it worked, and he slid his tongue into your mouth.

“Maina,” his voice was pleading and desperate. 

“Do it,” you spoke to him through breaths, “Dettlaff, please.”

“I--Maina,”

“Take me to the damn cave if you need to,” you barked, feeling his fingers excite to your most sensitive point, you wanted him as badly as he wanted you, wanted him to give you another, “just fucking make me yours.”

He let out a steady stream of crazed noises as he walked outside of the crypt, holding you over his shoulder when you heard the cracking of his bones. Wings sprouted from him in the middle of the graveyard, his noises were near pained in his longing. He held you to his bony hip and took flight, with the night barely dark enough to conceal him, until he lobbed you onto the bed of the cave, and his large, eyeless face became demanding as he breathed on your legs, which you spread eagerly.

Gods, you wanted him to have his way with you like this.

“Eat me, baby,” you moaned prematurely, looking at his giant, monstrous body. His energy was making you feel like nothing else was real besides the two of you. 

Dettlaff’s giant, quite human-looking tongue did as you demanded, and his huge hands gripped around your thighs. He picked you up with ease and fucked you with his thick tongue, plunging into you. Echoes of moaning reverberated through his body and vibrated you to your core until you came on his monstrous face, and then came again when he didn’t stop. He was rutting against the damp floor of the cave.

“Maina,” the sound vibrated you once more.

“Dettlaff,” you spoke his name in a daze, and stared curiously about him.

His giant member began growing out from an opening in the bony place on his groin, and at the base of it, quite sizable testicles. 

And by sizable, they were massive, and perched exactly on either side of his impossibly long, pronged cock.

The head of it pushed up against your opening.

“Fuck me, Dettlaff,” you were gripping his eyeless head, mouthing the side of it, and he slid only the upper fifth of himself inside you. 

Your massive vampire lost it.

Dettlaff began yelling your name in rumbling that neared _shrieking_ , thrusting into you. His wings flapping excitedly about the cave, knocking over the dresser he fucked you on the year prior. He filled you too much, and you screamed, but he barely heard you over a new erotic din of echoing clicks he was releasing amongst the echoing of your name. The claws of his hands broke the skin of your ass on one side, your thighs on the other, and you whimpered, but some instinct inside of you was drowning out everything that wasn’t your lust, and you felt your body beginning to near the edge before another orgasm took you. Dettlaff’s wings wrapped around you when you moaned for him uncontrollably, and you were relieved when he let out a massive, unhinged cry, and felt the cool, thick liquid of his seed fill you until you were full. He went to pull out, then inhaled when he failed to - the oddest sensation occurring inside you when he couldn't. 

You felt his energy begin to turn for chaotic.

“What is it?” You asked, noting how his spend felt, which was quite agreeable and pleasant. You were fairly certain it was making you feel like you needed more of him, and began kissing him on the face, grateful that his massive erection was so long that you were able to do so while still attached. 

You heard a rumble begin deep in his body before the words traveled up out of his fang filled mouth.

“Darling, I,” he stopped. “Are you alright?”

He sounded worried, and you inadvertently rotated your hips around him, trying to detach.

Dettlaff jerked, filling you further with his cock, and you yapped as more spilt from him. The noise that escaped the monstrous vampire was a moan, and he gasped in desperation, “Don’t, my Maina.”

His large hands cradled you in place, and he slowly and carefully laid back so that half of his body on the mattress in the cave, half of it on the cave floor itself. His chest expanded against your front.

“What’s happening?” You asked, and Dettlaff’s body stiffened.

“I’ve spined you.”

“ _What?”_ You nearly shouted it in his face. “Sorry, honey.”

His massive mouth smiled in a terrifying display of sharp teeth. “Maina, _I_ am sorry.” You watched him speak, mesmerized by the way his mouth moved. “I can’t pull myself from you, now.”

“Oh,” you felt your insides twitch, and more low, clicking noises emanated from your mate as his body responded by jutting himself in further. 

“Don’t, Maina, we have to be careful.” He swallowed, “I am too,”

“Big?”

“Yes.”

His eyeless face observed you, then, and you observed him. A hanger claw from his upper arm was playing and nudging your hair, and he set you so that your full weight at the belly was on the mound of his vast chest. You perched your elbows at the side of his neck, and he watched you with some sense other than sight as you started stroking the side of his face, and administering kisses to his jaw. 

His energy warmed and overwhelmed you, his wings engulfed the two of you like some fleshy enclosure, as if he wanted more privacy in the already private place. Dettlaff’s head nudged at you, along with his claws, along with his wings, and his energy, his great thumbs stroked your sides, and inside you, he twitched ever so slightly. “I love you, my Maina.” 

“I love you, too.”

You waited for the words that would follow the current rumble.

“Regis has settled.”

“What?”

An odd sound was becoming louder from outside the cave, until you felt a gust of wind, and Dettlaff’s fortress secured itself even more so around you as the giant body of Regis landed at the mouth of the cave. 

You pushed aside part of Dettlaff’s wing and saw the giant brown bat peer at you. It let out a surprisingly high pitched chirp before crawling in your direction. 

“I should have known,” Regis’ voice was nearly as low as Dettlaff’s. It was ancient and hollow sounding. Dettlaff’s answering chuckle was a menacing echo. 

“Hi, Regis,” you blushed as Regis nudged Dettlaff’s wing away with his snout and stopped, seeing your predicament. 

Despite currently having the face of a giant bat, both you and Dettlaff- judging by the oneness you felt from his energy at the moment- could tell that the barber-surgeon was giving you a very, _very_ Regis look. 

“I was unaware this happens,” Dettlaff mumbled... as much as a large, winged, rumbling creature could manage to mumble. 

Regis trilled, and you thought it was a laugh, “thank god we’ve relieved you of your repressed state.” 

You had no idea how Regis was managing to speak, how either of them managed to speak, the more you watched them. It seemed almost as if the words were formed somewhere deep inside them, and traveled up as whole out their mouths. It was mesmerizing. Dettlaff sensed your amazement, because his energy spiked, and his member twitched again inside you.

“You vampires are entirely thorough creatures,” you yawned, resting your head on Dettlaff’s cheek, “I hope you know that.” 

You felt the cool liquid run down your leg. 

“Are you still...?” You asked, in awe.

“He has been and will be,” Regis answered, every word interrupted by an odd noise. Dettlaff opened his wing and the giant bat turned in a circle on it in a fashion similar to that of a dog, before he laid down with his large head pushed up against your side. 

“Do we have to go to this festival of the Duchess’?” You asked, not wanting to think about it. 

“We won’t be there long, Maina,” Regis’ low voice was quiet, and he licked you on the face. “Now stop asking, words are incredibly difficult to form like this.”

He lowered his head back against your side. A low, constant rumbling began, and you realized that Regis had started purring. The smooth claws of Dettlaff’s hands still felt like smooth riverstone against your skin where he lightly massaged your back. Their two bodies like this seemed to triple the amount of heat they let off, and you became incredibly sleepy. You wrapped an arm around Regis’ thick, furry neck, and heard him chirp. Dettlaff cooed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's: jeez idk lactation what's new, monster sex, mentions of spit-roasting a Regis, idk. OH getting spined, minor pain? big sexy monsters, breeding in general? children, TWO OF THEM
> 
> I almost named this chapter "Competitive Vampire Mating For Rutting Males" hahaha which is a great title but I didn't want to spoil it...


	24. Your Hair Is Standing On End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unfurling of mysteries! And cute Regis time! And cute moments all around, holy cow! 
> 
> This is the first of the two (plot) climax chapters! lol...had to clarify that. But the fluff is so darn cute in it!! Also after the plot wrap up I _will_ be yada yada-ing on with great joy about their domestic familial adventures because I just need to, okay!? lol!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!!!

The problem in Kaedwen had taken longer for Eskel to resolve than he’d been anticipating.

The wind was howling as much as it normally did in the Northeastern country where Ard Carraigh was located. Yennefer pulled the sleeves of her double lined blazer, frowning at the mouth of a cave in the middle of a forest. A stockily built witcher with a red striped jacket and scarring down one side of his face appeared from the darkness of it, holding something in a bag over his shoulder, limping slightly as he approached.

“Trust you’ll be able to find the bodies on your own,” Eskel said, voice sounding incredibly neutral upon seeing the sorceress. 

The sorceress still only silently thought. 

“Figured someone would be interested in this one. You should see some of the clothes on those people,” he chuckled, “like they were straight out of some fairytale. Found a doublet that would fit the likes of Geralt’s fancy southern vineyard lifestyle.”

“By people, you do mean the victims, don’t you?”

Eskel stared at the woman, “Well,”

“Yes,” Yennefer replied, eyeing the lightless entrance. “Have fun riding back to your own den.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” the witcher coughed, mounting his horse Scorpion. He halted the horse’s eager stepping, looking somewhat let down. “What? Don’t have any questions?”

“No, thank you, Eskel.” 

Yennefer entered the damp cave as the witcher began riding away. 

  
  


The tall, papaya building of the Beauclair Manse was staying cool in the blaring sun wonderfully, you realized, now that it had all the windows open. You were admittedly glad to be back. There was a din coming from the busied roads of the city that you were trying to ignore, however, and turned, walking in from off the balcony to inspect yourself in front of your full sized mirror.

Today was the day. Well, it was the day of the afternoon and evening of the Duchess’ La Fête de la Musique. This meant that it was, by default, also the day you had to acknowledge that having two children _does_ things to your body...and by _things,_ you meant _sagging._ Just little bits, here and there. But you noticed. You were trying not to mind it, but no matter how much you tried, there it was. 

Despite your better efforts, you could feel the corners of your mouth pull down in a pout, and your eyes dropped to your mirrored toes.

“I may not have a reflection, Maina, but I can still _see_ them,” Regis cooed from the large, three person, four poster bed. Your eyes automatically traveled to where he _should_ have been lounging in the mirror, and saw nothing. 

“Do come here, dear.” 

His velvety voice soothed you, and you obeyed, walking over to him and deflating in his arms as he opened them for you. Squeezing you soothingly, the hot breath of the barber-surgeon’s chuckle warmed your ear. 

“My dear,” his voice was low, and you heard him swallow, “you are exquisite for reasons far beyond that of your appearance, and your appearance is, on its own, _exceedingly_ lovely.” 

You bit your lip, feeling the warm skin of his sweet smelling chest where it peeked out of his brown collared shirt. 

Regis nudged you with his mouth, “well? Was I able to help you put things into perspective?”

His voice sounded funny and he cleared his throat partyway through the question. It sounded like he was trying not to giggle at you. 

“Do you think I’m being ridiculous?”

“Of course I do,” he was definitely smiling, you thought. You sat up, and caught him rearranging his face about the mouth until it laid in a flat and _serious_ line. 

“You won’t think I’m being so ridiculous when the both of you find someone _younger_ and...and... _more fertile,_ or something.”

“Where on earth is that coming from?” Emiel’s eyelids widened and narrowed simultaneously, dangerously and he turned his head so that he was looking at you out of the corner of his eye. “Maina.” 

The last sound of your name, he stated, was a demand for you to search for the _actual_ answer. The sound of him telling you he wasn’t going to put up with such nonsense.

“Okay, _fine._ ...I just,” you could feel your stupid lip quiver. You could feel the storm coming. Your _actual_ answer was probably somewhere in it. “Listen, I’m only a silly human and I age and Dettlaff thinks I’ll be able to live to see him as old as you, but, but... _how do we know any of this works?_ ”

Tears were forming on the rim of your eyelids, flirting to brim them. 

“How long are my children going to have their mother?” You felt the wet drop streak your cheek, and you closed your eyes. “Regis?”

“Oh, my dear Maina,” Regis gently brought your body up against his side, and you found yourself crying into the round curve of his shoulder. You put your arms around them, then, and pushed your face to his neck. “Maina, Maina,” he was trying to calm you, and pat your back, “Dettlaff and I have seen it. We’ve met a human woman of nearly _my_ years.”

His arms wrapped tightly around you. 

“I think our daughter will grow up and see her mother for a few centuries, don’t you?” His voice was not as velvety as it had been, and you noticed. It didn’t act as a comfort. 

“You don’t believe it,” you muttered, sniffling. 

“I assure you, I do.”

“Then why do you sound so sad?” You bit your lip again, and realized that the place where the flesh of Regis’ neck met his shirt was now covered in your own weepy liquids. 

“My dear, my love,” Regis’ voice was regaining its character, “might you manage to sit up and look at me through this bout of emotional trammel? I _do_ find it quite uncomfortab--”

“Yes, yes, you old…” You sat up, wiping the back of your wrist across your nose, and Regis’ large hand glided to the round of your face and let his thumb gently do the same to the tears on your cheek. 

Regis’ pitch black eyes reflected each of the window's sunlight as they bore, unwavering, into your own. His mouth shaped into a soft smile. He was right, of course. Looking at him was making you feel much better. 

His face became pensive. 

“Regis,” you began, and the crease where his brows met the bridge of his nose deepened. 

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head, “I was thinking of that woman in her cell.”

You shivered, and his large hand went to your shoulder. 

“I suppose it threw me off topic,” he swallowed, then looked better as his pupil’s found yours again. “No matter. _You_ will never be in a cell, and _you_ will never have to suffer.” 

“Okay, so,” you rolled- and enjoyed the freedom of having a baby-less belly in order to do so- onto your back, putting your head in his lap. Regis looked a little older from this angle, in a somehow very handsome manner. You supposed it was the roundness and regalness of that damn chin of his. _Focus._ “ _So_ …”

“Yes, Maina?” Regis’ lip curled.

“Not trying to be insensitive, but, how many vampire children did that woman have to turn out?” Regis’ eyes widened, and the line of his mouth tightened. “I mean, sure, she was pushing _your years,_ but…I’d rather not have to have _fifty_ kids to live, as much as I love you, Mister Emiel Regis, I really don’t think I can handle that many vampire babies.”

Regis put his hand over his face and looked towards the ceiling, all you could see was his Adam's apple bob slightly, and felt his belly dance up and down gently beneath you. 

“My, _quite_ sensitive my dear,” he made the sound of trying to cease the chuckling, and looked down at you. “Hmmhm. She had _eight_ children, Maina.” 

“ _Eight_?” Your face scrunched up, that didn’t seem right to you. For some reason, you thought there would have been more. 

“Yes. Apparently human mothers of vampires, well, their blood loses its sweetness after so many, and Chauvelle, the unfortunate vampire he is, didn’t want to risk tainting the taste of hers.” Regis became quiet again. 

“I love you, Regis,” you reminded him, and he smiled. “You’re a good person. A good vampire.”

He looked down at you. The blackness of his eyes of his eyes did sometimes intimidate. You watched as one half of his mouth pulled in a downwards smirk, and his brows pulled tight as well, only upwards. “Yes,” he replied, “yes, I am.” 

“Are you going to ask me to have eight children?” You frowned. “Remember, you are a _good_ vampire.”

Regis snorted. 

“Why, Maina,” he pulled you flush up to his side, and you felt your breasts mold around his chest muscle, felt his breathing, his mouth next to your ear. His velvety voice was quiet, “I hardly see how you could resist it.” 

“Ah, ha,” you chuckled nervously, and he nipped your ear.

He inhaled your body’s reaction, and made a noise that was not human, “See?”

You kissed the old barber-surgeon, and you did kiss him ferociously. 

“Ma-n-a,” Regis’ voice was somewhat choked. “ _Maina,”_ he was laughing when he pulled you off of him, “ _you_ need to get dressed.”

“Regis!” Your mouth fell open, “How,” you tried to kiss him again, but he moved his head, biting his lip. You deflated, “could you?”

Without meaning to, your eyes traveled to the mirror, and felt yourself beginning to pout again. Regis found this very amusing, and kissed your cheek, “ _exceedingly lovely.”_

You had to stop yourself from trailing the sweet smell of his breath by grabbing him when he stood. 

  
  


You did everything but get the back of the dress tied up. You managed to put on every single layer of the periwinkle catastrophe in the process, and tried not to think about how Orianna had picked it out for you in said process. 

The heels of your shoes clacked against the attractive darkwood of the wide steps of the mansion, and found both Dettlaff and Regis sitting curled up next to each other on the middle couch of the living room. Dettlaff’s head was resting on Regis’ shoulder as he read, and his icy blue eyes were tracing along the same line as Regis’ dark endless ones. You looked out the windows overlooking the hilly Toussaint countryside, taking a deep breath. Dun Tynne sat heavy in the distance, and you turned from it, to your lovers. 

Both of their chests were rising and falling in unison, now, as they looked at you, and instead of their eyes tracing the words of a page, they were tracing the curves of your body, until they rested on your now rosying cheeks. 

“The both of you embarrass me,” you tried to swallow, but your throat had gone dry. “Honestly, stop.” They couldn’t make you feel this beautiful after having felt so goddamn awful all day. Dettlaff stood first, and Regis followed him to you. “You’ll both make me cry.” 

“Mmmm,” Dettlaff’s lips brushed on your cheek, “crying is not so bad, my Maina.” 

Regis smiled, then cocked his head at his other partner when Dettlaff began nuzzling you about the hair and face. 

“You do realize that both hair and makeup take time to do, Dettlaff?” The older vampire guided his head away from you. 

“Well,” you smiled at your two handsomely dressed vampires - Dettlaff wearing a navy doublet, Regis wearing a deep, rich mahogany colored one. “Wow, you both look very good. Um, ha, ah. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“I thought you wanted to dance around with Pierre and eat fine chocolates, Maina,” Regis chided, sticking his arm out to you, before Dettlaff picked you up beneath the butt, crinkling the fabric of your skirts, and he let out an exasperated sound, following. 

  
  


La Fête de la Musique was held on the palace grounds. The gardens were opened only to partygoers with invitation for the evening. There was no formal dinner. Instead, food and drinks were made available nearly every which way one turned. Turning in _dance_ form was encouraged on the several dance floors. The most anticipated feature of La Fête de la Musique, you were coming to believe, was the open ballroom of the palace, where _more_ music and dancing occurred. You realized not many people were allowed into the palace throughout the year, marking this a special occasion for Toussaintois. You wondered at whether you would feel like you were breaking into it again, once inside. The thought made you laugh, and you realized you were gripping Regis’ hand tighter at the memory. You kissed it, and he looked down from the crowds of people to you. 

“I assured you, Maina, not one of these guards had seen Dettlaff nor I with any clarity during that god-awful chase,” Regis cocked his head, realizing that your expression wasn’t that. 

“I’m just feeling sentimental,” you explained, and he smiled, his dark eyes trying to figure out your meaning. 

Dettlaff returned with a small plate of food, you took it from him gratefully and started eating. The large, navy dressed vampire stood next to you, then, putting his arm around you. His energy became more relaxed when he did so. 

“We’ll leave soon, Dettlaff, don’t worry.” You smiled, and the arm around you tightened. 

“Beg your pardon...Leave _soon?”_ Regis shook his head, “No we shall not. Now, which one of you will be dancing with me?”

Both you and Dettlaff, in unison, took a step backwards, eyes on the dancefloor. You pointed at the plate and disconnectedly said, “my feet hurt.”

“Traitor,” Dettlaff whispered into your ear, kissing it, before he was led off down the white and salmon-colored stone a ways to a very beautiful balcony with a very beautiful view of the lower gardens and lake. 

Taking a bite of some sort of food... _ball...(was it fish?)_ you turned around and took in the rest of the decorations, which were really fantastical. Toussaint was such a beautiful place. You wished your children were old enough to not spontaneously turn into delightful little winged furballs in order to share this with you. Or, rather, you wished the relationship between vampires and humans were not so strained. You eyed the dancefloor, and saw Dettlaff holding Regis ever so delicately by the waist, leading him in broad circles in step as best he could before twirling the older vampire. 

“Gods be damned,” you whispered. 

“What are we damning?” 

You jumped at the sound of Geralt’s husky voice. A large, heavy arm fell around your shoulders as the witcher squeezed you to him. 

“Hey,” you looked up at him, “what are _you_ doing here?” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” he put his hands up when you started looking around frantically, “they’re safe with Marlene, Maina. I’ll be going back there shortly. Don’t worry.”

“ _Marlene?!”_ You gasped at him.

“Yes, _Marlene!”_ He threw up his hands, dead set on one-upping your dramatise. Your eyes widened, and you grabbed him by the upper arm. “Hey!”

“Don’t _hey_ me, Geralt,” you pushed, walking him to the edge of the stonework and pushed passed two closely kept, handsomely trimmed Cypress trees. 

“Do you not see,” you turned to him once concealed, “the problem with _leaving my two little vampire babies with a human woman?!”_

Geralt put a large, ungloved hand on the side of your face and pat it. It took every bit of restraint to not open a doorway to Krael’ef and use Ailma to absolutely _smack him with it._

“Fuck...gaah, with this,” you pulled his hand from your face, realizing that you had opened _something_ enough to bend his arm in a way that looked most unsavory. “Shit,” you released it. 

Geralt rolled his eyes, his voice labored, “yeah, like _that_ hurt. Maina, Marlene doesn’t give a damn that your children aren’t human...”

“ _Shhh,”_

“...she spent what? _Seventy-five_ years a wight. Besides, do you think she hadn’t noticed the two vampires you were touting all up and down my vineyard like it was some sort of Inn, _Maina?”_

You took a deep breath, eyeing how he worked his elbow as inconspicuously as he could. “Are you sure?”

“ _Yes,_ you _mom,_ ” Geralt’s smiling thin lips dipped down at the ends, and he grunted. “They really like her, by the way.”

“Someone’s jealous.” 

“ _Anyway_ , the duchess herself invited me so I have to be here. Gonna talk to Damien. He’s been ordered to apologize to me,” one of Geralt’s brows lifted up, “ _formally.”_

“Huh,” you walked back through the Cypress trees, feeling your hair for sap, “didn’t think you would be into that sort of thing.”

“Normally, I wouldn’t. But he pissed me off so much that I can’t wait to see him be forced to do it,” Geralt gave you a crooked half smile, looking down at you from the corner of his eye. “I’ll see you later.” 

The witcher hugged you easily, and walked off at a quickened pace. A very quickened pace. He probably wanted to get back before their bedtime.

You sat at a table, and realized for the first time that you had thrown your food plate up into the air during the panic of seeing Geralt here and child-less. Glancing up, you saw that Regis and Dettlaff were just beginning their second dance, and your heart filled to a state of bursting. Deciding that it would be best to not tempt them into stopping their fun early to accompany you in _sitting_ , you chose to go for a walk, find a familiar face. Where was Pierre? Heck, even _Fancois_ was around somewhere...

  
  
  


The cave was littered with human remains. Some various other animals here and there, but primarily, the carcass of choice was that of _human._

“Vampires,” Yennefer muttered beneath her breath in a biased tone. She took note of how many vampires Eskel had fought, which were innumerable. The sorceress was unsure of whether or not she’d ever seen so many in one place, and all of the same kind. The same species of vampire. Still, nothing out of the ordinary enough to rouse the woman’s suspicions, until she reached the end of the cave, where the flashing of bright yellow fabric with robin egg blue trim and short sleeves caught her eye. It shone in the white light emanating from her palm. Kneeling, she inspected the work, and a minute crease formed between her brows. The small figurine she’d kept in her pocket since discovering Maina became weighty, and her gloved fingers wrapped around it ever so slightly, until she was in an identical cave. An identical cave without the bodies of human and vampire alike. 

The sorceress stood, then, and inspected the surroundings. From the wind howling at the cave’s mouth she realized that it was storming a moment before a thunderous boom echoed through the area. Krael’ef was upset, again.

In the moment the cave lit up from lightning, the sorceress saw a dark spot, a recess, on the ground. She edged her way to it and, looking down into it, realized what, then, it was. 

A tunnel. A very, very, long, tunnel. 

Geralt was sitting upright in a chair across the large oak desk of the Ducal Guards’ captain himself. The apology would have been sweeter had the sun not just dropped into the window frame and began glaring into his vision as the captain began. In fact, none of it was nearly as savory as the witcher had hoped or expected. The view from the fifth story was, he admitted, rather sightly. 

He was also very disappointed that he, Damien de la Tour, and a lone _scribe_ were the only ones in the room. The witcher would have liked seeing the man struggle through this with more of an audience. A few more souls than himself and one other to at least report that it had happened. 

“So finally,” Damien de la Tour shifted uncomfortably in his seat, chin going up as he eyed the man standing in the corner, “I, Damien de la Tour, captain of the Ducal Guard of Toussaint under Duchess Anna Henrietta, formally apologize to you, Sir Geralt of Rivia, for wrongful arrest and imprisonment.” 

His head twitched as he said it. Geralt smiled. The man frowned. Geralt, too, frowned. Something about this apology was unsatisfactory to him. Hell, it even seemed unsatisfactory to De la Tour, who looked deep in thought and robbed of some greater pleasure he was hoping to gain from it all. The witcher shifted in his seat. 

“So,” he looked up at the ceiling. Somehow, this should have felt more awkward than it did. “Did you ever find out what she was looking for in your tent?”

Damien’s brows drew together, “looking for?”

“Yeah, Orianna,” Geralt shrugged, “she went through your tent, threw things around. Why _do_ you have two different pairs of clothing?”

The captain’s head cocked further, and he yelled the name of the guardsmen standing in the hallway so loudly that Geralt would have flinched. 

“Get the Falconry attire from evidence,” he said to the man. The witcher heard hurried footsteps, and a door opening only a short ways down the hallway, some rummaging, then a door closing.

“Convenient,” Geralt smiled at the captain, who was now scrutinizing him out of the corner of his eye. 

The door opened loudly, and the guardsmen trotted in with four or five sets of clothing - the witcher could not tell exactly how many. With a nod from his captain, the garments were dropped onto the desk and the guardsmen made a swift exit. 

Damien de la Tour sat up straighter in his seat. “Lady Orianna did not look through my tent, Sir Witcher,”

“Geralt.”

He took a deep breath. 

“She planted these,” he held the clothing. “Random, fine pieces of clothing.” 

Geralt’s mouth slid open, slightly, “What?”

“Did you not hear me?”

“Why would she do that?”

Damien de la Tour crossed his arms, “we have no idea. She refuses to speak, until she is given a proper trial, and Toussaint law forbids us from forcefully extracting such evidence, despite how sure we are she is…” 

He trailed off, catching himself before saying _Buxa_. He continued.

“I would suspect money and a relationship with our judge has played some part,” the captain looked tired, and the witcher was surprised he gave this information up to him. 

Geralt shrugged, then picked up a finely woven jacket, recognizing an ornate bronze fastening.

“You might want to ask her where she got a jacket with a dead man’s buckle stitched onto it,” he laughed. “I had no idea she knew how to sew.” 

  
  


It had taken you all of ten minutes to walk from the greenhouse, across the bridge, to the tailor shop.

You knocked on the door, _harder_ this time, and took a step back as the door swung open.

“Maina,” Pierre smiled, looking relieved. “I know, I know, I’m running late to the festival. I’m just closing now.” He looked around at the street. “Normally I don’t allow people inside after close, but, since it is you?”

You knew Pierre didn’t allow people in after dark, and smiled. 

“Sure!” 

“Good!” Pierre replied as you followed him in, and he locked the door behind you. “I am so busy, now, it seems. Which is ridiculous,” you followed him upstairs to the more comfortable seating, and plopped down on the red velvet fainting couch while he began rolling up long swaths of fabric, “It’s not as if I have Orianna’s invitations to write, anymore.” 

The two of you got quiet at her mention. 

PIerre took a deep breath, and bit his lip. 

“I,” his expression was difficult to place, “would you like some tea? I’ll make us some tea.” 

“That would be great,” you smiled, and he smiled back. _Too_ widely, and you knew he was putting on a show for you. It made your heart drop.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Pierre turned and walked down the stairs. 

  
  


Regis was being dipped by his soon-to-be husband when he heard a woman nearly scream, Dettlaff brought him close.

“Maina?” His mate’s deep voice sounded dangerous. 

Of all people, _Geralt,_ ran out of the crowd, out of breath and looking over his shoulder at an insulted woman.

“Oh good,” he panted once, immediately catching his breath, “ducal guard trying to watch me.”

“Geralt?” The vampires said in unison. 

“Where is my daughter?”

“Where is my son?”

“It’s Pierre,” the witcher started walking away, looking around.

“What?” Dettlaff asked, catching him by the hand and turning him around.

The witcher’s eyes went wide, “Where’s Maina?”

Dettlaff let out a low noise. Then, he was simply gone. 

Regis grabbed the witcher and they started for the exit, “explain.”

  
  


You forgot how beautiful all the fabrics were in the place. All the little nick nacks around that you wondered what their purpose was. You stood and went to his desk, admiring the silks. 

The sun was just slipping past the horizon, because the blinding light from the window was finally subsiding. “Really hits you in the damn face on the second story, huh?” You said to yourself, moving on to sorting through the loose necklaces covering the desk. There was a layer of white beneath them that you grabbed at, and were surprised when your fingers grasped cardstock. Heavy parchment. Completely white parchment. 

“Pierre?” 

“Yes, Maina?” You heard him call back, voice traveling up the stairs, You turned and saw him carrying a tray with teacups on it. You took what he offered you, staring down at the necklaces as he began lighting candles. 

You didn’t take a sip; the tea smelled bitter.

“Did you say you wrote Orianna’s invitations?” 

“Yes,” he replied, almost laughing, “day in day out. I did all of her writing.”

As the light dimmed outside, something very sweet smelling was rising in the small room. 

You saw him stand up straight and turn to you in the reflection of the desk mirror, “Maina?”

In the reflection by his feet was a small, green plant with long white flowers.

“They found him in a well,” you whispered. 

_For the last time, Pierre,_ _it’s dupont not dupuis. Pont as in bridge, not Puis as in well._

 _“_ What did you call Auguste, that day?”

You turned and saw that Pierre’s jaw was tense, his nostrils flaring. 

“Did you call him Dupuis because in a well is where you dumped his body?”

His eyes went wide behind his glasses, _livid._ His teeth bared in a scowl before he was changing, morphing, into a giant bat. 

Then, he disappeared...and you felt it. You felt that it was storming in Krael’ef.

Suddenly, you were being grasped by large hands, and Dettlaff was picking you up. 

“Maina,” he held you to him, his voice high in pitch.

“We need to go,” you were panicking. “We need to go there, n-”

“-ow.”

The two of you rolled into the storm, the wind was whipping your hair to and fro. You had not meant to enter Krael’ef in Dun Tynne.

“What had happened, Maina?” Dettlaff yelled over the wind.

“I think Pierre’s a door,” you cried back. 

You saw a streak of blue, and realized that Yennefer was pummeling something or someone with magic on the western slope. Rain started pouring as you grabbed Dettlaff, and transported to where you saw Yennefer’s magic. Geralt and Regis were already here. 

You were taking _everyone’s_ object doors from them when this was over. 

Geralt rolled out of the way of a large, unhinged and rolling windmill, away from where he had been shouting over the storm to Yennefer. He faced you, cupping a hand to the side of his mouth.

 _“Chicken Pebbles didn’t make the tunnel under Dun Tynne!”_ the witcher yelled.

 _“Geralt!”_ You yelled back, over the storm, _“Stop calling it that! I’ve always hated that fucking name!”_

_“He only made most of them!”_

_“What?!”_

_“Blood,” you saw him take another breath,”trafficking!”_

You couldn’t make out what Geralt was yelling to you before the witcher was knocked to the ground by something large and too fast to see clearly. The gust tossed you, and Dettlaff caught you- you could tell that he did not want to let go of you. 

You pulled Regis to your person, grabbing him with Ailma. His energy told you he felt safer once by your side. Something swooped down from the sky, and streaks of Yennefer’s magic lit up the air around it. 

The large bat-like creature was _shrieking_ when it landed. It was _ugly._

You could feel immediately that it was Pierre. You could feel the hair of your head standing on end. You could feel that you were ignited. He clapped his wings, taking flight above you, before diving down into the opened network of tunnels below. 

Without grabbing Dettlaff or Regis, you fell into the stance of a sprint, and pictured the katakan.

Both of your hands were being wrapped in long fingers, before you took the step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!!! How am I doing? Feel free to leave me feedback! It's super encouraging and really, really appreciated :'3


	25. Finale Pt. II: Love is Good, Love Can Be Strong, We Gotta Get Right Back To Where We Started From

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh boy! AhhhhH!!!! Don't read this summary if you don't want spoilers from last chapter!
> 
> Maina deals with Pierre, Orianna deals with Pierre, Damien deals with Pierre, Regis, Dettlaff and Geralt deal with Pierre--Beauclair deals with Pierre-- _everyone_ deals with the boy, albeit for most, its indirectly. Then obviously there's, uhhh, celebration?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's at the end; and at the very end I tell you where the CW’s kick in in the chapter for those only looking to get into the cw’s, lol
> 
> Enjoy! :)

The sorceress felt a chill in the dark burrow as she walked down it. The walls were clean, uncharacteristically smooth for that of a normal cave. Shaelmaar came to mind, and now she understood why she had so easily miscategorized it as the makings of one. Only it wasn’t, and it hadn’t been. The clothing she had discovered not one hundred feet away and growing further was that of a Toussaintois, she knew it to be true. No one in the cold and damp of Kaedwen would wear a light linen tunic, not even in the heat of summer, if you could call it _heat._

More importantly, she’d seen that very shirt. It was worn by Sorrei Beaulieu, the first victim, who had last been seen wearing a tunic of a fitting description, mirrored then by his missing persons portrait. 

Yennefer let her white flame widen, illuminating more of her path. If her suspicions were correct, and it was becoming undoubtable that they were, this earthen corridor ran straight to Krael’ef’s version of Toussaint. Straight to a place nestled beneath Dun Tynne Castle. 

She wondered for what reasons. 

It had been obvious that there was a vampire horde living in the North. A horde of Katakans, no less. There was a body belonging to a higher vampire, and the sorceress doubted very much by the state of its body that it had been slain by Eskel. She doubted by the state of _Eskel_ himself that he had fought it. There was only one Katakan living in Beauclair that she was aware of, and he hid his vampirism poorly. 

If he had entry to Krael’ef, and could create this tunnel, then…

The sorceress tried not to bay out in laughter. Of Krael’ef in its infinite possibilities, to be used as a systematic means in moving blood for vampires was something she would not have expected. How innovative of them. How convenient and fortunate. None of the slain vampires had been holding object doors, however. She wondered if and how Pierre had been able to move all those humans. Perhaps he was able to summon faux vampires in Krael’ef, odd versions of their earthly selves.

Most of all, however, the sorceress wondered why, after _months-_ judging by the bones- of making this little route work did the katakan decide to only now attract the attention of the Duchy by taking as victim four sons of influential families. 

The sorceress continued southbound through the tunnel.

The tunnel was older than months, though. Perhaps, there was only a halt in the process, with the coming presence of Maina. The ducal guard believed Regis and Dettlaff to have been a part of it. 

Yennefer stopped walking, then, and opened a portal. “If her vampires were indisposed, Maina would be easier to get to.”

Whether or not it was Pierre, whoever was doing this wanted The Fifth Door gone, she realized. She startled when over the sound of her portal, rose a clamoring of footfalls. 

-

Geralt released Regis’ arm, wind whipping his hair in the storm on the slope of Dunn Tyne Castle as he let the small figurine slip back into his pocket. 

_“Why did you bring us to Dunn Tyne_ , _Geralt?”_ Regis yelled, though only feet away. 

_“I hadn’t meant to,”_ the white haired witcher looked around, lowering himself more and more into a crouched position, and drew his sword. 

A crackling of lightning caused the two to look overhead at the heavy, dark grey sky before blue streaked it. Blue magic, and at its spring was Yennefer. 

_“What on earth is she doing here?”_ Geralt asked, but his friend had grown a sullen look, finally getting a glimpse of what the woman was fighting. 

A horde of very large, wingless bats. Katakans. Katakans that were seemingly popping up out of the earth itself. 

_“What on earth are you doing here?”_ The sorceress shouted, appearing just before them out of a closing portal, her hair flying in all directions. 

“ _We could ask you the sa-”_

A deafening screech rang out overhead and the witcher was thrown amidst his speaking, the words flinging from him before landing on his back. In the air was a very large bat, circling back up and preparing to swoop down again. 

_“I think that’s Pierre,”_ Yennefer yelled, orienting herself towards the winged thing. 

Regis looked up in awe of it, _“I don’t believe Katakans have wings,”_ he shouted, _“but you’re right.”_

Yennefer _was_ right. On its batlike fingers it had all of the same rings, but what was more, it merely _felt_ like the man. The horde of katakans was beginning to run towards the three of them. 

Static rose, and lightning shot across the sky. Night was taking Krael’ef.

The giant bat sent itself through the air like a missile, and the two just barely threw themselves out of its path as another deafening screech cut through the atmosphere. Regis looked back and saw that Geralt had been knocked over by the windtail of its attack. 

The older vampire barely had time to jump from the path of an enormous windmill, trying to alert the witcher who was shouting something now uphill. 

Then, Regis felt it. Felt _her,_ and looked over his shoulder uphill. Maina and Dettlaff had just arrived. Then, he was being pulled towards her, seeing nothing until he was standing beside her, and grabbed her by the hand when her body prepared itself for a dead sprint. A leap. 

-

They were in a dark labyrinth now. The only light provided to them from slips in the ground above, where beams of moonlight shone in the shadow.

“Where’s Maina?” Dettlaff asked, his voice urgent, and he peered about frantically. 

“I have no idea,” Regis replied, eyes wild for the first in a long time. They turned to the sound of a grunt, and saw the witcher falling out of the cave’s ceiling beside them. 

“Guh,” he bounced, his white hair muddied as he scrambled to stand. “Anyone wanna tell me why the earth is _falling apart?”_

A roll of thunder came from somewhere far, far above them. Quieted by the ground between. 

“That is most likely a question for Yennefer,” Regis took a deep breath, his hand going to Dettlaff’s, “though I believe it more than likely has to do with a balance being thrown off in this place. Most certainly because of our dear fiancee’s lack of upkeep.”

“Huh,” Geralt nodded his head, looking around wide-eyed and doubtfully.

“Dettlaff,” Regis’ voice was soothing, “Maina is the most powerful being here,” his hand went to the vampire’s cheek, and he was met with concerned, icy-blue eyes, “you needn’t worry about her.” 

The worry in the older vampire’s eyes, however, was only partially masked. 

“I can feel her presence, and she feels like she is unhurt,” he finished, bringing Dettlaff in to him, and kissing him gently. 

“Is _that_ what that is?” The witcher chuckled, “I hadn’t noticed it my last visit because she’d been pretty close to us the whole time but, wow.” His hands went to his hips, “she’s _pungent...”_

Geralt paused at an odd pattering.

He, Dettlaff, and Regis looked down at their feet. Rocks were skipping about the ground, and they peered down the dark passageway. A low noise similar to the beating of drums was coming from up ahead. It grew quickly.

“What is that?”

The side of the cave in front of them exploded into a torrent of misshapen, batlike bodies, barreling forward and clawing into the opposite wall with urgency.

“Yes, she is pungent,” the dark haired vampire replied, looking in the direction the beasts were clawing, and making _headway,_ “and she is _that_ way.” 

His voice broke into a bellow, pouncing into the stream of vampires, followed shortly by Regis with his fangs, and Geralt with his sword. The katakans were different than any they had ever experienced, slashing and tearing into them like oil filled sacks of leather, wondering what bastardization of the species Krael’ef had made. The more they cut down, the more flowed into the small space to cross it, to cross the tunnel into where the weightiness of Krael’ef lay, where Maina was. 

Until that weightiness shifted, and the horde stopped clawing at the wall. For a brief moment, everything went very still. Geralt pulled his sword out of a body, Regis stood up straight- breathing heavily, Dettlaff’s gaze pulled back to align with that of the horde, from behind where the three of them stood. Over his shoulder he saw a streak of grey fly at the opposite end of the dark burrow, disappearing down a corridor of its own. With it came the screeching of the large batlike creature, of Pierre, and it echoed down the hall something terrible. 

Then, wizzing behind it came a flash of red, disappearing just as the bat had. He felt the weight in Krael’ef tilt with it. 

Dettlaff called out Maina’s name as he began sprinting after her. Only noticing seconds later that he was accompanied by Regis and Geralt, and that the entire horde of hellish Katakans were at their heels, all attempting to reach the same goal. 

“We can’t let them get to her,” he yelled to the others, feeling desperate as the rumbling of the ground threatened to throw them into the air. 

“I couldn’t agree more,” Regis called back, his long claws flexing in the dark. 

“In that case…” Geralt swung his body around in his sprint, flying backwards before his heels dug into the earth and he slid, the edge of his silver meeting the long, furred torso of the first monstrosity to follow. Dettlaff appeared before him, taking the next before it could cut the witcher, and Regis was there then, too, trying to hold off the mob. 

-

Pierre slipped through the earth of Krael’ef like a fish does water, moving it from his path quickly. Were he able to transport himself in this place, the elaborate tunnel work would not be necessary. 

He cawed menacingly. 

The Fifth was here, and he needed to get her out before she could kill him, before she could undo what he had built. He had not intended for her to follow. He had not thought she knew how to find him here. Terror had struck the katakan when her small, human frame appeared on the slope of Dunn Tyne. 

He hit the first tunnel, and his body felt the relief of its cool air as he landed on the ground, next to still standing water.

-

Everything was quiet until the katakan came through the top of the cave, landing hunched. _Interesting,_ you thought, _a cavern._ The ground of it was littered in treasures of the human sort, and the low light of the moon shone off the small, round pool of the cavern’s center. A garment covered in blood was draped along the edge of it on one side. 

The figure stood and turned to you. 

“Pierre.” 

You could feel your heart beating as you uttered his name, and you hoped to see kind recognition in the bat-like creature’s expression- some semblance of caring, but there was none. 

“Maina,” the bat smiled, “I see you’ve found my home. Welcome.”

“Why?”

You felt yourself taking a step back as the creature rounded a tall stalagmite.

“ _Why?”_ Pierre cocked his head, creeping closer across the reflections of moonlight. 

“Why did you do it?”

The bat straightened. 

“I needed you out of the way,” he frowned. “How you crumbled our port city to the east last summer was terribly unkind of you. Vampires thirst in the east, and the south, the west. Vampires thirst in the north, dear, too, same as everywhere else. How could I be bad for profiting from it? We need and desire blood.” 

“You don’t need it.”

His eyes widened. 

“Oh? Your _true_ higher vampire’s use it recreationally, yes, but what about the rest of us?” He frowned again, “Yes, it’s true, Orianna weaned herself off, and became utterly _useless_ in the process.”

“Orianna?” Your voice came out firm, “You framed her.”

“She was disposable,” Pierre’s fur rose aggressively, “but I can assure you, she had not been my intended target.” His long tongue ran across a row of sharp teeth, “Call it an unfortunate happenstance.”

You wanted to ask him so much more, but the pain in your heart was growing. It was becoming all that you felt. 

“Why, Pierre? I thought…” you sucked in air, “I thought we were friends?”

“Friends?” The vampire’s voice was quiet, and he looked at you with dark eyes that mirrored. They flickered. You thought he whispered the word again, before he spat on the ground at his feet and hissed.

“Because I needed to take down your precious mates to get to you. Your foolish prisoners.” 

His creeping steps widened. 

“Because I am katakan, and I am The First.”

The rings on those long, slender claws glistened.

“Do you hear me?” His voice grew colder as his face dipped in and out of the light. He was much taller than you. You took another step back. He smiled. “The _First_.” 

Pierre’s body faded, the fangs of his smile the last to disappear, drifting towards the cavern’s exit. 

It whispered.

_“Come catch me.”_

-

Krael’ef was dangerously unstable, and the fabric through which it existed was being torn, causing a peculiar light to emit from the actual earth in certain areas of Toussaint. Yennefer stepped lightly over one as she healed herself, and opened the door to Corvo Bianco. 

“I’ll be helping you babysit, for now,” are the words she chose to greet the heartily aged yet frail-looking woman who sat in the small living room, bouncing a tiny baby on her knee as the other flew around her. 

“Well,” her eyes widened, “Yennefer, is it? You’d be the last woman I thought to come babysitting.”

Marlene eyed the wetness of the other women’s black blazer, and nodded.

“Though I suspect the circumstances are not what I would have thought, either.”

The black haired sorceress gave her a small, tight smile. More of a wince, really. Everyone else was...busy, and if anything was going to kill Maina before she could put Krael’ef in order, Yennefer figured, it would be doing something stupid for the lives of her children. 

The sorceress let the woman hand her the little baby girl, and sighed. 

-

“Damien!”

The tall, muscled, bald man strode down the hallway something fierce. Chaos was setting in on the palace. Strange light was beginning to speckle the ground over the countryside in the night, he’d seen it from his balcony, he saw it overlooking the festival on his way down to this very hall. Bodies were surfacing in a tailor shop so full that the weight of them busted a window and were falling out into the street. People were going mad about it. 

That tailor had been on his list, and now he was beginning to put the witcher’s behavior in place like pieces on a chess board. 

“Captain De la Tour!” 

“ _Not_ now,” he spat over his shoulder at the guardsmen, before shouting up ahead at another two, “open this door, then go to the festival. Everyone is to be evacuated orderly, and ensure that they _do not_ take Gran Road through the city past the Tailor’s shop on their way.” 

One of the men fumbled with the keys, opening the lock. Then, he stood. Damien ripped the keyring from him.

“ _Now.”_

Taking a torch, the captain walked past the heavy wood door and made his way down the spiraling staircase. The air grew dank and cool. When he reached the bottom, he was standing in a room with a single candelabra lit on the wall, a man at a desk, and another hatch-door at the far end. It was sturdier, thicker, and heavier than the last. 

“Leave, Michal.”

The man at the desk looked around, his mouth opening in surprise, “B-But, sir…”

“Go.”

Michal stood, gathering his helmet, peering back at the large hatch as he took the first stair. When Damien began approaching it, he heard the man _scurry._

It took the captain a moment before he could find the correct key in the low-light, then, with a heavy sigh, opened the door and walked in. This room was dark, and he lit the torch to his left that hung on the wall, then the one on the right, before placing his own in front of him in the metal, conical base near the barred cage. He then stood back. 

In the light of the torches, a woman’s face appeared. 

“What is it you want, Damien?”

The bald man’s head twitched. He had despised how she refused to call him by his title. Now, however, in his desperate revelation, he merely found it mildly annoying. 

“Orianna,” Damien greeted. “What do you know about the Tailor of Hauteville?”

Michal could hear the crazed shouting of the Lady Orianna as he took the last steps of the staircase, slamming the door behind him on her inflamed cursing, resting his back on the slab of wood. 

“Mighty hell’s fire,” the guard huffed, sweatily.

“I _knew_ it was that little rascal,” the woman turned on her heel, “ooooh, _ooooh!_ ”

She held her fists up, and they shook with every _ooooh_ as she paced. Damien de la Tour felt his eyebrow raise and his lips part - his mouth falling ever so slightly agape. This was not the reaction he would have expected to come from a bruxa. The vampire woman was beginning to _fan_ herself with her hand, even. 

The large man cleared his throat. 

_“What?”_ She threw herself around, crossing her arms accusingly. 

“He framed you.” 

The woman rolled her eyes, lifting up her hands “Ob _viously_.”

She stared at him with a harshness that was not entirely malicious. No, he thought, it was pleading. He licked his drying lips, and felt his brow crease. 

“I would like to ask you for your help, Lady Orianna.”

“My _help?_ ” Her hands raised further, indicating the space around her, “after all of _this?”_

The bald, mustachioed man inhaled deeply, as if this all were very difficult for him. 

“Accept my apologies.” 

Orianna’s head pitched. She stared at the man, her eyes glinting like a cat’s in the torchlight, before she turned. “Rather unforeseen, this.”

“Why?” He asked. 

Her body tensed a hair. 

“Because you are _Bruxa?”_

The woman spun to face him faster than his eyes could register, “You have _no proof_ of that!”

Damien readjusted his stance, his jaw working. 

“If I let you out of this cell,” he spoke the words slowly, looking at the keys in his hand... She would want to maintain her innocence, he thought. “If I let you out of this cell, will you help me find him? I would clear your name.”

The woman stood there wordlessly in the dark of her cage for a long time, and the captain stood just as long staring back at her. Finally, she uncrossed her arms.

“Of course.” 

He eyed the handcuffs on the wall of her enclosure, and she sighed, putting them on as Damien began undoing the lock to her cell.

“Out of curiosity,” he opened the door, “Why would a Bruxa abstain from Pierre’s murders?”

Her eyes widened and narrowed before she acted scandalized, though she did not speak until she reached the stairs. “I shouldn’t know. I’m no Bruxa, Damien, I’m a _lady.”_

The captain appraised her before edging past, taking her thin arm in his large hand as he did, and started leading her up the stairs.

Out onto the first floor they could hear screaming. The captain looked at the red haired woman. 

“Stay here,” he put his hand on her, then ran to the noise. 

“Stay here?” Orianna repeated. “Oh for pity’s…”

He heard the woman running after him as he left the guard’s building and stepped into the night, into the festival. Creatures that looked similar to Katakans were everywhere, his guards trying to defend themselves and the partygoers that were meant to be evacuated. 

“What the hell is-” 

He pushed the woman back into the building, and closed the door. Kneeling before her, he took out his key ring. 

“We are going to the Tailor’s shop,” he held her small hands, undoing the latch of her bearings, “do you understand?”

Damien stood, watching as the woman’s brows knit. She was silently inspecting her small wrists, then she peered up at him with a curious expression. 

“I understand that we will go to Pierre’s shop,” she opened the door, “come.” 

-

The number of misshapen Katakans were becoming too much to handle in the dark burrow. 

“I can’t feel her, anymore,” Regis called, “we need to get out of here.”

Dettlaff and Geralt were struggling to slay the tide.

“Agreed,” his dark haired mate called back, his claws also fully extended. They were being pushed backwards to the cross tunnel, where theirs and another met perpendicularly. 

“If I have any _time,”_ Geralt called, “I can get my object door out and get us out of here!”

Regis jumped, thrashing a body as he did so before immediately taking another by the eye, edging at the cross intersection, “I don’t see how we can alleviate you.”

Another low noise was now coming from the opposite direction. 

“What is that?” Dettlaff called- the noise becoming too loud for his ears. 

Regis peered back to see the form of a shaelmaar rolling directly towards them. Geralt grabbed the vampires by the arms, leaping backwards and falling into the cross tunnel. The older vampire sat up, and witnessed the monster collide with the horde head on, before rolling back towards them.

 _“Shit!”_ The witcher dug into his pockets, _“hold onto me!”_

-

The streets were in utter chaos, Orianna observed. The large captain was closely following her everymove. He was following _too_ closely she thought, and stopped, turning to him. 

“Will you _back off_ a few feet?” She barked. 

The large man looked down at her, then up at the sky, his jaw tight. “If you insist,” he smiled a contrived smile down at the woman. His eyes widened and, pulling her behind him, unsheathed his dagger- cutting down the large vampire before it could attack her. 

“Are you okay?” 

He pivoted back to the vampire woman, his eyes searched her body for injury. Orianna noticed that his voice had sounded rather worried. 

“I’m fine, Damien,” she replied, “really.”

The woman wondered if he really _did_ believe that she was human after all and, clearing her throat, started back into their trot. Letting him follow her as closely as he liked. 

The bridge across the palace grounds to the city was absolutely congested. Smoke was coming from a building across the way on the main street. 

“The Tailor,” Damien growled. 

“Here,” Orianna, pulled him in front so that the large man could push through the crowd.

“What if he isn’t there?” Damien called back and downwards to her. 

“Then we shall find him elsewhere,” she answered. 

The bridge crowd flushed them onto the southern sidewalk, and the crowd from the street was tightly packed, unwavering and not allowing entry.

“We’ll need to take an alleyway,” the woman tried calling up to the man who was so tall he was perpetually out of earshot. Surprisingly, however, he nodded. 

“We will cross under the bridge to the north side,” the captain took her forearm and started pushing through the crowd towards the stone stairs that led to the water, “we can enter the shop by its back entrance.”

The woman wiggled her arm free before continuing to follow. Screeching was coming from all around.

“Stay close, keep your eyes open, I do not want...” 

His voice fell as they reached the underpass of the bridge. It was darker than dark. The captain hesitated to begin.

“Here,” she shimmied past him on the narrow path, “I’ll go first, to put you at _ease.”_

The man grunted, but fell in line behind her small figure as it disappeared under the bridge. The walk was longer than he recalled it being once cloaked in shadow, and he reached out again. This time, for guidance. 

“What now?”

“I can’t see,” he stated monotone and matter-of-fact. 

“Oh, well,” Orianna felt for his hand, gripping it before realizing that a human woman should not be able to see in the dark any better than a human man. She cleared her throat, “I can’t promise that my footfalls will be any surer.” 

The Ducal Guard Captain gave an amused and disbelieving chuckle.

She stopped. 

“Surely your footfalls can _at least_ exist,” Damien countered, sounding exasperated when his front collided with her unmoving back. “Orianna?”

He saw the silhouette of her head _tick._

“Run, Damien,” she said it quietly.

“What?” The captain asked, before Orianna pushed him out in front of her.

“I said _run,”_ she kicked him into motion.

The man stumbled forward, landing on his hands and knees. A splash came from the water- a roar erupted and Orianna’s shriek answered. There was the sound of a struggle. Damien heard his sword hit the ground before him, rattling down the path further away, until it's glint was seen in the moonlight as it slid out from below the bridge.

The captain pushed to his feet, darting towards it, he yelled back for her to hold on, before lunging at it. He gripped it and turned on his knee. The form of a great Katakan broke the darkness of the bridge before he could stand- its clawed arm that was coming down to slash him was caught by an equally clawed hand, only much smaller, and a frightening female figure landed crouched on its back, sinking its claws and fangs into the large creatures throat before leaping off of it with such force that the furred body was thrown back into the lake. 

Damien stood, watching the strange female figure. The red haired bruxa. 

The vampire turned to flee, but the Ducal Guard Captain caught her by the wrist and forcefully yanked her back and around, dropping his sword as he did so. The bruxa looked up at him and saw his eyes searching hers. She could feel that she was too afraid to change back to her human form. 

His eyes continued to search, “Lady Orianna.”

He called her _lady._ The bruxa watched his eyes running around her vampiric features.

“Can you change back?” Finally, the captain’s gaze turned to the city, “I think we can get up this way.”

He frowned, looking back down at her, “unless you are hurt?”  
Orianna took a step back when he released her wrist. She thought that he had sounded just as worried as he had before, on the palace grounds to the bridge. She took a deep breath, and felt herself beginning to transform. 

“No,” she replied, hesitantly. “I’m fine.” 

“Good,” he stated coolly, clearing his throat. “Thank you, for saving my life.” 

“Damien,” Orianna was peering up at him with that curious expression. “Now you _know,_ what I am.” 

The Ducal Guard Captain started to take the north stairs up to the city, and the vampire woman did so after him. “What you are is something that I have known for some time. What is your point, Lady Orianna?”

 _“Oooooh,”_ Orianna took the stairs two at a time, now, huffing. “You did _not_ know for _some_ time, else you would have treated me worse off in that cell.”

“Would I have?”

“Yes.” 

“Enough of this for now. We can speak more of it after your name has been cleared,” he said over his shoulder, sounding frustrated as they reached the first landing. She trotted up the last stairs to him and this time it was she who caught him by the wrist, yanking him and turning him around. He crossed his thick arms. “You’ve broken no law.” 

The vampire felt her face getting red. This man was angering her. “What are you up to?”

The captain sighed, “I am up to nothing, Lady Orianna.”

 _“That.”_ The woman stated, becoming very cool and even. “You’ve seen me now, haven’t you? Yet you keep calling me _lady._ You’ve seen that I am a bruxa, Damien. You know this now.”

The man peered down at her. 

“Before, you claimed that you were not a bruxa, but a lady. Now, you say that you are not a lady, but a bruxa.” He lowered his head to her, “I’ve never seen a vampire who was more a bruxa than you, Orianna, and I’ve never seen a woman who was more a lady than you, either. In my entire life. Perhaps, Lady Orianna, you are both.” 

His voice had become different than before, and the captain’s eyes were on her face, again. On the form of her shoulders, again, before he looked away.

“Well, then,” she cleared her throat, “let’s go find Pierre.” 

-

The slope of Corvo Bianco was quiet, Yennefer watched the countryside from its porch, the two children between herself and Marlene. There was a din beginning to come from Beauclair, a panic. It took the sorceress all she could bear to not investigate. 

It could be a trap, a lure. 

Her eye twitched from the concentration it took to stay put. She rested her chin on her upturned palm and clenched her teeth.

Above a row of grapes out in front of her, in the dark navy of the sky popped Geralt, who was in the middle of yelling, before he fell to the ground with a thud. Yennefer sat back in surprise. 

Then Regis. 

Then a very large round thing -- the shaelmaar. She watched it roll away with utter incredulity. 

...Then Dettlaff in his black leather frock coat; he landed directly on Regis. 

Yennefer’s eyes widened when the large vampire took the smaller’s face into his hands and began kissing him forcefully. 

...was that _blood_ beginning to drip down from Regis’ mouth? She wondered. It had been some time. How fascinating...

The larger vampire pointed to the city, before he and Regis disappeared altogether. 

  
  


-

Sweat was running into your eyes. As was dirt flying into it. You couldn’t blink. If you blinked, you’d lose him. Air was whipping past as you sent yourself through it for the katakan. 

Pierre dove up out of the darkness of the earthen labyrinth, _finally._ You breathed air and heard thunder. It was midnight in Krael’ef. Why and how you knew this was not good was beyond you. You tossed your hand in front of you as the katakan faltered in the air like a hawk preparing to dive, and in a clawing motion sent him across the sky onto a moonlit outcrop. His wings flapped chaotically as he hit the stone, tumbling unceremoniously until a line of trees abruptly halted his momentum. 

You took to the air and floated towards him, the wind on your skin cool. His body was still and untrustworthy in the moonlight, and you realized through the power you felt in this place, you couldn’t still feel fear. You could not feel out of your element. As you floated nearer, you wanted to tell yourself how crazy this was, but as you glided towards the murderous katakan silently through the night air, nothing had ever felt more natural to you in all your life. 

“This ends now, Pierre.” 

You heard the tumultuous bubbling of thunder above you. 

The katakan’s body started to move where it lay slumped. One of its wings unfurling and shrinking, and Pierre’s human face peered up at you into view. The bubbling of thunder began again, and the katakan’s eyes lit up- bright and fiery.

“Come, claim me.” 

His voice was deep and different. 

You looked at your hands, as saw that they too were ignited. Was it your nearness to him? Lightning flashed across his humanlike features, a wry smile forming. His eyes flickered to the city, before he closed them. His body started to quiver. He was morphing. 

_“No!”_ You shouted, darting towards him before he could finish transforming. 

His hands grabbed a hold of you when you reached him, grasping your arms so tightly that it hurt, pulling you up against his front.

His eyes flew open, pure white and beaming, and he smiled widely at you. 

_“Gotcha!”_

Your body was pulled inwards unto itself, and then you were spat out onto the street of Beauclair. The both of you were shining, now. You could feel Dettlaff’s energy was nearby and began panicking that he shouldn’t be here.

_No, you have to focus._

“I’m sorry to say,” Pierre was rising into the air, and you realized that you were stuck in place, perhaps out of fear. People were gathering. 

_Fuck._

You were in the real world. In the world you were weakest.

People were beginning to scream, and a crack of thunder scared them off. Suddenly it felt like all you could see was the katakan. Tunnel vision. It started to happen. 

You watched lightning fall from the sky, the already ignited man a catalyst as it funneled into him. 

_“Pierre, NO!”_ You screamed at him. He continued. Why wouldn’t he listen?!

He looked at you with an exhilarated smile on his face, beginning to laugh, before he twirled his lightning around his body and shot it at you. 

Your hand reached out instinctively, and before you could even think, you sent it back to him. 

Pierre’s face fell a moment before he was struck, and he fell to the ground. He was limp.

You broke out in a sprint to him, and reaching him felt your knees hit the cobblestone. 

“I hate you,” you told his unmoving face, “I hate you so much.” 

Hot tears streaked your cheek, and your forehead fell onto his chest.

“I hate you so much.”

You did not know if it had been a very long time or a very short time before you felt the chest beneath your forehead rise, taking breath, and you felt your shoulders were gripped, and you felt Dettlaff’s energy as he picked you up into his cradling embrace.

You saw Damien de la Tour and Orianna approach the katakan, before Dettlaff hurried you into an alley. The voices of people were all around you. 

“He is still alive, Maina,” Dettlaff whispered in your ear. “What has been done is not your fault, my darling.” 

His large arms gripped you so tenderly before you disappeared and came to at Corvo Bianco. The outside of the house was quiet. The ground was no longer shining light, and all misshapen monsters had disappeared as well, not that you had noticed. 

  
  


In the morning you woke to the sun shining into the bedroom of your estate. Toussaint looked peaceful where you lay, though your view was obstructed by two arms. Both belonging to different vampire men and running in opposite directions. Both of their chests were lazily pushing up against you before Dettlaff inhaled, yawning, sounding like a large cat bellowing in your ear more than anything else, and Regis’ shortly followed. 

“I can’t feel it,” you whispered. 

It was gone. Your heartbeat quickened, and you sat up. Both Dettlaff and Regis exchanged alert glances. 

“Maina?” Dettlaff asked. 

You closed your eyes, trying to imagine Krael’ef, and opened them to see the room, exactly where you lay. “Did I destroy it?”

“Maina,” Regis' voice was hesitant, “don’t be alarmed,” 

You closed your eyes and tried to imagine the mansion’s garden in Krael’ef.

_Woosh._

You opened them to see that you were in the garden, butt on the dirt, sitting amidst the tall grasses and herbs. A line of tomato plants drowned you, and a pear tree obstructed your ability to see anything else. 

Dettlaff appeared in his red tunic and small clothes in front of you, followed by Regis in a robe.

“What the?” You looked around, and heard birds chirping, and the voices of people on the street. 

You were in your _actual_ garden.

Regis held up his hands, “Maina, now, don’t try to do anything _too_ dangerous.”

“What?”

Dettlaff shook his head at Regis and made his way through the bushes to you, watching his backside to avoid cutting it on the rosebush in his silk shorts. He bent over so that his icy blue eyes were mere inches away from you.

“You destroyed it.” 

“I did?”

He nodded, his lip furling. You looked up at Regis and saw that he was also trying not to smile. 

“What’s so funny?”

Dettlaff shrugged. 

“You destroyed it and more or less _consumed_ its Ailma.” Regis’ eyes went wide as he nodded. When you looked at him, the color of his cheeks turned a dark rosey color. 

He was right, you noticed. You couldn’t feel Krael’ef, but you could feel... _something._ Something _within you._

“Oh!” You piped, and Dettlaff’s toothy grin appeared, “I transported myself to the garden?”

He picked you up by the waist, setting you on your feet as you yelled again, “I transported myself to the garden!”

“Let’s transport ourselves to the kitchen,” Dettlaff mused, now picking you up beneath your knees and armpit, following Regis, who was already walking off towards it.

“Good, because I think Rohellec and Dacreval just woke, and you probably need to breastfeed,” he cleared his throat, “...dear.”

“I think you’re right,” you rolled your eyes, feeling Dettlaff nuzzle your head as he walked you inside. 

  
  


You sat in the booth, one that was at the corner of the kitchen closest to the street and furthest from the garden. Dettlaff was nearly purring in your neck where you sat on top of his lap. 

“What’s going to become of Pierre?” You asked. 

Regis looked over at you from where he stood at the kitchen, eyes looking at the children who, now fed and dressed, were running around the island. 

“He will stand trial, of course,” he replied, looking back at the frying pan. “Though I doubt very much they will be able to convict him of the murders.”

“Why?” You asked, and Regis turned from you. 

“Well, after having spoken to both Yennefer and Orianna last night, after you’d understandably fallen to sleep,” he eyed Dettlaff, “and Dettlaff simply fallen asleep, it seems that in destroying Krael’ef and consuming its Ailma, that you destroyed _everything_ having to do with it.”

You cocked your head, and felt Dettlaff’s body become taut. 

“Regis?”

He wasn’t looking at you. 

“What’s worrying you?”

“You’re not a door anymore, Maina. They cease to exist.” 

The barber-surgeon was staring intensely at the hot slab of iron in front of him. 

“Oh,” your voice was quiet, and the older vampire slowly faced away from you. 

Rohellec and Dacreval were still giggling, running around the island and around their upset father. 

“Children,” Dettlaff slid out from beneath you, shooing the babes from the kitchen, “little ones, we can play outside for now,” he walked down the step into the living room, taking them out the door. He looked back at you, blinking slowly, before closing the door behind him. 

“I should really thank you,” Regis’ voice was shaky, “I wouldn’t want to have gone on having Acern Ara after Acern Ara after you...” 

“Regis,” you stood, his hands were trembling, and yours felt suddenly like they were on fire. You walked to him, “Regis, please.”

He wasn’t looking at you. 

“I am so sorry,” you felt yourself wanting to cry. What had you done?

“Well, as it were,” the vampire blinked quickly, “It will be difficult for them to charge Pierre, and he apparently seems like quite a nice man now that he doesn’t share his body with his door, the First…”

“Regis.”

“...so perhaps it entirely does not matter at all what the outcome is, what his fate shall be, being that he isn’t very much the same person. Perhaps he will not recognize that he enjoys your company, even.” 

“Regis,” you took his hands in your own, forcing him to drop his wooden cooking spoon. “Do you not recognize your love for me?”

Your heart felt like it was burning a hole through your stomach. 

The vampire blinked back tears, his voice stolen and riding on air, “of course I recognize my love for you, Maina.” 

So it was that he didn’t think you would love him anymore, then. The burning in your stomach tore at its middle. “Sweetheart,” 

His eyes closed, and he inhaled so sharply that his head jolted. Sniffled.

“Regis, no. No, no,”

You gathered his face in your hands, recognizing the wetness on your thumbs for his tears, the trembling of his body for his worry, and brought him in close to you. To safety, and held him. 

“Of course I still love you,” you bit your lip, “I love you.”

“You love me,” he repeated. 

“I do.”

“Good,” he sniffled, and he held you back, smelling your neck. 

“Regis…” Your eyes went wide as he bit, and started to tremble again.

“Maina,” he sucked, and you felt him push up against your groin, your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Regis,” Dettlaff’s voice was low as the older vampire, still latched onto your neck, rut against you. The larger vampire strode into the kitchen from where he stood in the living room doorway. “Regis, what are you doing?”

“Dettlaff,” you started calling out, but your body was beginning to feel warm. It was beginning to feel _ready,_ and the barber-surgeon picked up on it immediately.

You felt Regis’ spindly fingers find your clitoris through your nightgown, then he spread your legs so his lengthy hard-on could do the work instead. You sucked at the air, your lashes dancing on your eyelids. Through them you saw Dettlaff’s eyes widen in feral excitement before he crossed the kitchen and took the smaller vampire in his hands.

“Fuck her,” he demanded into Regis’ ear, his large, long fingers wrapping around the man’s neck, forcefully pulling him from your own before he looked over his shoulder. Dettlaff turned back, his mouth running against Regis’ ear, his eyes staring into yours as another rut against your clitorus made your head roll, you fought it, and held two dark pupils set in the glacier of Dettlaff’s eyes as he demanded again in his deep baritone, “Fuck her.”

Regis’ eyes were strained, his teeth bared in stimulation, and he hissed. You pulled at his robe, and Dettlaff tore your nightgown before slapping your hand away, growling at you, and tore Regis’ robe himself. He couldn’t get his silk small clothes off faster, his eyes widened at the glass bottle of olive oil on the counter before he crushed the neck of it. Another rut from Regis made you grasp him, and Dettlaff slapped your hands away again, before licking the older vampire's neck, taking his cock in his hand, covering him in oil. 

You were not upset about the situation. 

Dettlaff’s clawed hand slapped his blood brother's ass, gripping it, aligned himself with Regis’ lathered asshole. Regis yapped, and Dettlaff’s mouth was on his ear again, he was holding the older man’s arms behind his back with one hand, and his light blue eyes bore into yours when he used the other to set the fat head of Regis’ throbbing cock between your lips, at your opening. He stared at you, now slowly thumbing your clitoris until you moaned, then he _flicked_ you into gasping and, gripping Regis neck once more, demanded, “Fuck her.”

Regis seethed, then _bucked,_ and you took his entire length and girth in the first go. His base, the trail of his hair, hitting the place Dettlaff had just made so tender, and you gasped again. He whimpered through his teeth. Dettlaff bit at his neck, drawing blood, grunting when the older vampire left you, sliding up onto Dettlaff’s cock instead. You watched those glacial blue eyes roll before they found you, and he repeated, “Fuck her.”

His nostrils flared, and hissed until his eyes shut when he peered down at Regis’ hard dick sliding into you.

“Regis,” you gasped as he rutted, and the older vampire whimpered again. Dettlaff’s breathing was becoming unhinged, his eyes wilder and darker as he observed you, as his tongue rode the length of the barber-surgeon’s jugular and he repeated his command, “fuck her.” Regis fucked you, his cock’s soft skinned, fat head sliding against your inner walls, and you squeezed him. You made him wince, and he slid back, causing Dettlaff to shutter. Finally, the larger vampire let himself rut into the man, forcing Regis’ cock deep inside you. This time, you held onto the barber-surgeon, and Dettlaff caught the back of your head, his lips kissing you forcefully as he rut impossibly far, somehow further still into Regis, and you gasped on his lips.

He bucked Regis into you again, “Fuck her,” he breathed into your mouth, his hot breath across your tongue, his tongue inching further into your mouth, nearly into your throat. He bucked the other man’s cock into you again, “Fuck her.” He kissed you more fiercely, biting your lip and licking the blood on it, “Fuck her.” You saw Regis’ eyes rolling in your peripheral, his base all the while rubbing up against your clitoris by the constant pressure Dettlaff was applying. “Regis,” you squealed, and Dettlaff’s brows furrowed, fucking the man deeper inside you. “Dettlaff,” Regis started to scream for his blood brother, “Dettlaff, fuck me.” 

Regis’ bucking was becoming wild, you saw the expression on his face pained and blissful, before your eyes closed, the claws of Dettlaff’s long fingers digging into your neck as you felt the older vampire start to cum, his base rubbing you _better_ because of it, his ass sliding up the long, thick cock of his larger vampire. Dettlaff’s wild sounds and Regis’ desperate sounds were drowned by your own as you started coming, and came, and you wrapped your legs around them both as best you could to keep them near you as you started coming down and out from your high. 

Regis was slicked in sweat, and Dettlaff was still staring at you, his mouth again lingering by Regis' ear. He pulled you in by the neck and the two vampires began kissing you. Your lips, your cheeks, nipping at you lightly and contending for your mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's: biting, blood drinking, nipping, a big fat threesome, kind of a forceful threesome, OH! some light violence that I do not go into detail about it.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> It’s at the very end. CTRL+F “latched” 8)


	26. Art Dettlaff Does A Painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a second since I just posted art! I made this today. He’s probably staring at you, reader, or your proxy woman Maina ;P Ah! 
> 
> <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jdnejsnaka...Him in that coat, though 🥵
> 
> I’m gigglin’

  



	27. Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey this is an art dump of the things I’ve made this week! The next chapter will be up next weekend or the end of this week 😭🥰.
> 
> The last two portraits are actual oil paintings I did this weekend. I got myself full of paint but oh my gosh I have Dettlaff and Regis portraits now 😅😫🥳🤯


	28. The Upwards and Steady of Starting Domestica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orianna comes to visit Maina while she's livin' her best life...and wouldn't you know it! Orianna's starting to live her best life, too. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Regis is snarky and Dettlaff is adorably dangerous. Their children get used to rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoo!!! I am rolling in the cuteness. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter TuT !
> 
> By the way, these fluffy and/or smutty post plot domestic chapters will be somewhat shorter like this one.

Toussaint was sweltering. The uncharacteristic thunderstorms that had speckled skies above the past few months subsided after the incident; in their place, came rain. It felt like a cleansing. The warm droplets pittered across the canvas awning spread overhead by Regis in the courtyard. This corner of the garden made for a spectacular reading nook, even more so, you found, during times like this. When it rained. 

You watched Dacreval and Rohellec become more and more comfortable with the feeling of the recent weather. Val was getting over his aversion to water in his vampiric form. Now, they even _looked forward_ to it. Both of your children were splashing around in the fountain and downpour while you sat _mostly_ dry, _quite_ cozy in Dettlaff’s lap and watched them, the book in your hand neglected. 

So much had consumed your thoughts of late that, in the wake of everything that had happened, it was nice to feel a bit of normalcy, a bit of consistency. That was something that had largely been missing in your day to day life since meeting Dettlaff and Regis.

Regis’ hormones had tapered off to somewhat of a simmer, or to the normal you were becoming accustomed to. This led you all to believe that Dettlaff’s little trick with the cave had paid off, his fully vampiric seed more potent. 

“Maina,” Dettlaff’s deep voice rumbled against your back as he gripped you by the sides and gently set you down next to him. 

“What is it?” You smiled, seeing a glint in his eye. He bit his lip and turned on the large, red velvet cushion so that his broad, muscular back was facing you. You groaned, disbelieving, “ _Again?”_

Dettlaff stubbornly laid his top half against you, his head of thick, black hair between your breasts. He looked up below his brow at you, giving you a wolfish, jagged smile. His large hand touched your face gently, “I like it.”

“You bathe, honey,” you reminded him, and his nostrils flared in contemplation, “this is unnecessary.” 

“It is bonding, and it makes me happy,” he replied, you could hear the smile in his words, and he was already rubbing the back of his head against your front.

You wrapped your arms beneath his and hugged him across the chest, before kissing the top of his head. Then, you started combing through his hair with your fingers- simulating, for him, the act of grooming. In from your fingertips, then up and down your spine, you could feel his energy filling you and leaving you, calming you much like the patter of the rain above. 

“Mi une am,” _I love you,_ he said in his deep voice. 

“I love you too, Dettlaff,” you continued moving your fingers through his black peppered mane. “Ca repin Regis?”

_\- Where did you find Regis?_

Dettlaff took in a deep breath, and chuckled once, his energy warming, “Sune kuloca votlun.”

_\- Unearthing our bookshelves._

You laughed, kissing the top of his head. “Cia ka corso kom lavcilia se fera…”

_\- Probably to find the answer to why you want me to clean you like a wild animal._

Dettlaff sat up, turning to look at you, “is that bad?”

You smiled at him, his eyes searching you, “I like it.” 

As the vampire laid his back onto your front again, you heard him emit a low, seductive growl. 

“Oh, what an animal," you chided.

Dettlaff sat up _again_ and peered at you, incredulous, making you burst out into laughter. He smiled at the sight of you in your mirth before attempting to act serious, but the effect was more a mischievous expression than you’d ever seen. _So this is where Dacreval gets it._

He growled again, coming closer to your face.

“Are you not afraid, my Maina?”

That made you laugh even _harder_ at your very large higher vampire, who was he himself desperately trying not to laugh. A flicker of a smile appeared on his lips before he grabbed you and turned you both into smoke.

“Dettlaff!” You yelled over his deep laughter when you felt the water surround you. Your children were splashing their way away from you both in the fountain when Dettlaff rolled you, with him, under the water. It stole your breath, and you clung to him in his soaked shirt. 

Gasping for air you opened your eyes to see his slicked, wet features. His sneering smile on his face, his icy blue gaze traveling to your lips as his expression became more concentrated. You didn’t notice your breath hitch before he closed his eyes, the swell of his chest growing, and kissed you. 

  
  


Orianna walked into the white marble hallway and closed the door to the cellblock. She couldn’t tell if she felt insulted or complimented by the fact that Pierre’s cell was simply off a hallway, whereas she had been, up until those few nights ago when the man released her, kept in the highest security. 

She startled when a large body that had been leaning up against the wall moved. 

“Gods be _damned,_ Damien,” she gasped, turning around, “how long have you been standing there?”

The woman looked up at the bald, broad chinned and broad everywhere else’d, captain. His jaw moved slightly to one side, as if he were amused, and his head cocked ever so slightly before he tried on a stonier expression.

“I was ensuring that, were you met with unsavory resistance,” Damien drew another breath, his chest becoming even larger somehow. It looked to the woman that he was bracing himself, “that you would have assistance, were it required.”

She lifted a brow, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She handed him the two pieces of paper she had in her hand. “There.” 

The woman turned on her heel and began strutting away. 

“Lady Orianna.”

The vampire woman turned around. The Ducal Guard captain had his arm outstretched, a piece of parchment between his thickly gloved fingers. 

“You’re supposed to _keep_ that.” She said blankly, “I didn’t translate it for nothing.”

“This is the original,” he replied, “for your red haired friend, should she want to read it.”

Orianna snatched the parchment from him so quickly he flinched back before composing himself. He stepped towards her.

The woman didn’t know what to make of the way he was looking at her, then. It made her lips dry. It made her...she shook her head. 

“Why are you giving this to me?” She lowered her voice, “what makes you think Maina can read vampiric?”

Damien breathed in through his nose, and rolled his eyes before they fixated on a far corner of the ceiling. His mouth was working. It looked as if he were going to say something, but instead simply gave her a tight smile upon looking down at her. He cleared his throat. 

“Thank you, Lady Orianna, for translating this for me. I think it is best that this knowledge is kept between us, and any whom you believe can guard it.” 

Orianna studied Damien de la Tour, now, as they stood closely. She could smell the product he used on his facial hair. She could smell the robust, unique, and then subtler scents of his blood - hints of berries, and chocolate, even, though at first when it hit her, a deep pinewood. When she stopped herself from drifting further, realized that the large captain was gazing down at her, watching her with a peculiar fascination that was not rude or malicious. A peculiar fascination that she did not find altogether off putting. 

  
  
  


“Well, you are pregnant again, already, and he is definitely the father.”

The vampire snapped the unfamiliar book with a certain sass you recognized. He walked to the window, looking down at Dettlaff and the children still having fun in the fountain. He shook his head. 

“And, Regis, what makes you draw this conclusion?” You asked, the amusement you felt at the spunk of your older mate spiking as you tried to get his attention from the window.

“Ostis,” he muttered the vampiric word for _sacrificial goat_ under his breath. 

You started to laugh, “Regis!” 

“Oh, _fine,”_ the surgeon-barber finally turned from the scene and walked to you, taking a light grip of your arms and looking you over, “I suppose it isn’t that bad.” 

He was looking you over in a way that made your heartbeat increase, you could feel it, and he smiled. 

Regis took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, then forcefully brought you into a kiss, turning his head sideways. You could see the fleshy part of his face between his lips and sideburns working in a very handsome manner as you worked your mouth, and closed your eyes.

Then he stopped, and released you. 

“I’ll get that,” he disappeared. 

“Get...what?” You looked around and, finding nothing, changed out of your still soaked clothes. 

Regis reappeared, then said, “I believe _this_ will help answer your question, my dear.” 

Your lover grabbed you by the forearm, and you were abruptly smoked out for the second time that evening, appearing at the front gate of the estate where Dettlaff was growling, this time, quite unplayfully. 

Regis was right. If you were already pregnant Dettlaff _had_ to be the father, judging by _this_ behavior.

Dettlaff stepped between you and the door.

Regis put a hand on his other mate's shoulder, and when his gesture was thrown, crossed his arms, “Dettlaff.”

“Not. Now. _Regis.”_ The words of his deep voice ended with a dangerous, echoing _hiss_. 

“Gods, you _know,”_ you began, using your newfound _over abundance_ of ailma to move them away from crowding the door, “the two of you shouldn’t have to get married if you keep acting like you have been for _millennia already_ so if neither of you be _hav-”_

“Maina?!” A familiar voice called from the other side of the door.

“ _Orianna?!”_

“Oh thank goodness…”

Dettlaff tried to move you aside again, so you filled your body with more ailma and resisted, moving _him_ backwards.

You opened the latch and the door flung open. Orianna’s smile widened and, without hesitation, you leapt at her, hugging her. 

“I knew it couldn’t have been you,” you squeezed her.

“You really didn’t believe it?” 

There was surprise in her voice, and something far more difficult to pinpoint.

“How could I have?” You replied. It was true, after all. The entire time you couldn’t let it be true. You wouldn’t. You had felt she was good, somehow. Or at least you had hoped it to be so. 

Orianna hugged you back, then. 

“I don’t know how I could ever thank you for your faith in me.”

Letting go, you saw her mouth readjust into a small “o” shape as she quickly sucked in air and, smiling, dabbed tears away from her eyes with the knuckle of her white glove. It wasn’t until then that you realized the reason Dettlaff was no longer openly growling. 

Damien de la Tour was standing behind her. Instinctively you looked at her wrists, as if forgetting that she had just been hugging you, to check for shackles. You shook your head. When you looked back up at him, felt your eyelids tighten. 

You’d seen him with her that night, as well. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” You asked, and his brows lifted half a margin. For some reason his gaze wandered down to the vampire woman standing in front of him, as if waiting for her to answer before looking back at you impassively. “What is _he_ doing here?”

Damien took a step forward when you spoke to her in that tone, “I am ensuri-”

“Oh! _Nothing,”_ Orianna smiled quickly, seeming to get over her shock, and took a step inside, closing the door on the man, “We were just saying goodbye, in fact.”

You heard a deep, low sigh come the other side of the door. Then, to your surprise, a quiet chuckle of the same register, growing more quiet with the clinking of his armor. 

Orianna looked over her shoulder from where she had both of her gloved hands on the front door. “Will the two fo you _beat it_ for a _moment?”_

Regis and Dettlaff disappeared. 

“Orianna,” you felt your face getting hot, and your eyes getting wide, “what was _that_ about?”

The vampire woman rested her silk banned forehead on the dirty wooden door between her hands, _“oooooooh,”_ she breathed in. “Would you believe me if I told you I think I amuse him?”

Against your better intentions, you chortled, taking in the sight of the woman and covering your mouth with your palm to clear your throat. 

“ _Absolutely,_ I could.” 

“Oh, well, then,” Orianna turned on her heel, getting caught at the sight of the courtyard, then by the sight of your belly. Her eyes widened. “Where are they?”

You started to laugh, “I still have questions.”

“I’ll answer. I’ll tell you anything,” she looked around, “but I need to hold one of those little darlings - Oh! Look at that! Oh you did not, Maina!”

Orianna pushed past you, her skirts in her hands, having spotted Rohellec. 

  
  
  


It had started raining again. You were sitting back under the awning, back on top of Dettlaff to help him stay calm. Regis rolled his eyes at the larger vampire, his fingers going through his curling black and grey hair like you had not but a few hours prior. 

Orianna was talking babbling nonsense to Rohellec, who was to your surprise, sitting still for once. Dacreval had been excited to see the vampire woman again and, curled up in his wings, was sleeping up against the fold of her hair atop her head. 

You reread the letter she and Damien had found in the tailor shoppe. 

>   
>    
> 
> 
> _“Pavaeis auk vitnas…”_
> 
> . . . _You fear the woman, that I understand. Being the fifth or whatever it is you go on about. So why not solve our problem, Pierre? I don’t care what it takes; they pay well here in Kaedwen. We’ve only just set up this operation through that world of yours, and I’d rather not have it fall apart after all your...efforts._
> 
> _Get rid of her vampires- whatever it takes. Draw attention to them, why don’t you? Get rid of her true higher vampires, and you can get rid of her. If I remember correctly, the duchy cares much for it’s aristocrats. Perhaps the very predilection for the rich that makes Beauclair so fruitful for our feeding on the poor can also aid us in this task? I trust you’ll be capable enough for that. Let’s have you put them in the spotlight. . ._
> 
> _Oh, and I overheard a prisoner mention that his horse’s reaction to you should have been a “dead giveaway” on your being a monster. Poor fellow can’t tell what kind we are, of course. I suggest masking your scent. I’ve enclosed seeds, robust beyond belief, that will grow to night blooming jasmine. Wear it the next time you go off gathering prey, will you? Human pets alert them of us often- you’d know this, if you got out of the city more often. Roused suspicions are not what we need._
> 
>   
>    
>    
> 

You folded the letter and handed it back to Orianna. “Well, that’s depressing.” 

Regis snorted behind you, and Dettlaff’s hands went around your waist, massaging you with his thumbs. 

“True, my dear” Regis began, “but you crumbled Krael’ef, stopped Pierre-- or moreso _released_ him, and Orianna’s name is being cleared.”

Dettlaff scoffed at the last. 

“That part is still a little difficult to believe,” you murmured. 

“I’m as surprised as you are, trust me.” Orianna responded, Rohellec climbing up her to sleep next to Dacreval. The vampire woman stifled an astonished giddy gasp at that. 

“He’s really going to clear your name?” You clarified, your tone deadpan. 

“I wouldn’t trust the Ducal Guard captain were I in your shoes, Orianna,” Regis piped up. 

“Trust me, neither would I,” Orianna said sharply. “Only, he’s _already_ cleared my name.” Her eyes began to unfocus at the rain beyond the awning, her voice losing its edge. “I saved him from one of those morphed Katakans that night.”

You felt your brows lift in surprise, and looked back to see Regis’ was wearing the same expression, his eyes flickered to you and he pursed his lips. Dettlaff’s brows actually turned further down, and he rolled his eyes. Quickly, you turned back around. She wasn’t even paying attention. 

“So, he knows you’re...?” You wanted to clear this up.

“Mm. He saw me, in fact. As a Bruxa. He grabbed me by the wrist and spoke to me. He called me Lady Orianna, then.” She said, nodding as if impressed, then she sighed. “He still calls me _Lady.”_

Then, she looked very, very, _very_ annoyed. 

“What an absolute _prick,”_ she picked up your book, and you bit your lip.

“So he’s definitely _not_ a doppler?” 

She snapped your book shut. Her hands balled into fists and started to shake as an _“ooooh”_ escaped her. 

“Pierre, can you believe...” She pursed her lips. “I started to catch onto him, you know. It was that night, of course, the night we came to the conclusion Damien must be a doppler, that I confronted him. Confronted him an hour before we found extra sets of clothing and he saw Damien _morphing._ I have to admit I was so relieved and, well, glad that I had contributed a _missing piece_ to the puzzle that I believed him. It was so foolish of me.”

The line of her mouth tightened.

“Then of course it’s only days later that he framed me. Bought himself just enough time, it seems.”

“I’m surprised you made it out of there. Of the palace, with the entire Ducal Guard suspecting you to be a vampire.” 

The woman got that look in her eyes again, and you had a hunch she was thinking about a certain bald, mustachioed _Captain_ as she did. Which reminded you.

“What did the letters found in the flower box have on them?”

“Ah,” Orianna replied, “I remember that line of questioning being the most confusing. Damien asking me why I was trying to frame Dettlaff and Regis.”

“Frame us?” Dettlaff and Regis asked in unison. 

“They didn’t torture you?” You asked, still skeptic. 

“No,” Orianna replied, her brow tight. She reached up, then, and took your children out of her hair. You felt Dettlaff’s energy tense as she did; you felt his _body_ tense as she did. She handed them to you. 

Later, after dinner and after the rain had subsided, you found the vampire woman on the courtyard balcony staring off in the direction of her home, of Dun Tynne castle. 

“It’s really rather large for one person,” she admitted when you approached, resting your elbows on the guard rail balustrade. “I can’t believe you’re pregnant, again.” 

“I know,” you replied.

“Actually, now that I think about it,” Orianna peered towards the house, where Dettlaff and Regis were visible cuddling on the couch in the window, “maybe I can.” 

You snorted, and she bit her lip. Her skin was milky in the moonlight.

“You can stay the night, if you’d like?”

Her face lit up at you, yet she declined. 

“The gesture means the world to me, Maina.” She turned her attention back to her castle. “No, that old place hasn’t been tainted, in my opinion. In fact, I think it’s gained some character.” She side eyed you, “A little notoriety is something that I myself, as a vampire and all, value.” 

She winked, and you laughed. 

“Are we friends?” 

The question halted your laughter. Orianna’s expression was so sincere. The _question_ was so sincere. 

“Orianna,” you shook your head, “Of _course_ we’re friends.” 

“Good, because I quite like this.” She took a deep breath and took note of the gate. “I’ll see you in a few days. Have you made alterations to your wedding dress? You’re missing a rather large amount of belly, now.”

_Oh, damn it all._


	29. We Are Gathered Here Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Singing Doo-A-Diddy Diddy-Dum-Diddy-Doo. 
> 
> The crew gets wed! Dettlaff dads! Geralt blabs! Damien has hankies on _hand!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's at the end. This might be a part 1 of 2!
> 
> Enjoy! <3

“Dacreval, you are not allowed to nip at your sister,” Dettlaff’s doublet covered thighs flexed as he went into a squat next to your son, who pouted. 

Val pushed away his father’s condolences, looking out the window at the bench where Regis and a tiny, human Rohellec were playing. Dettlaff sighed, running a handful of long fingers through his hair before peering at you from over his shoulder. 

He shrugged, exasperated, then stood. 

“Do you promise to behave, Dacre?”

“Yes, baba.” 

_ “What _ is that tone?”

Your son’s eyes went to you, pleading, but you could only shake your head. You couldn’t get him out of this one. 

“Listen to your father, Val.”

Dettlaff’s upper body swelled.

“Want to try again, little one?”

“I will behave, dada.”

“Good.”

With that, Dettlaff followed Val to the door and opened it for him. He skipped out and jumped back onto the bench aside the glimmering fountain, immediately beginning to tell Regis about something or another. Your large, dark haired mate closed the door with a  _ click _ and was walking to you.

He glided his palm over his forehead and let it fall, “he listens to you more.” 

You wanted to smile,  _ would _ have smiled, if it weren’t for how sullen the expression he wore was. Biting your lip, you met him at the back of the couch and put your hand to his prominent cheekbone.

“Honey.” The edge of his mouth twitched upwards before you continued. “I think he listens to _me_ more because you don’t discipline him as often.”  
His dark brows lowered dangerously. He brought his hand to yours and engulfed it easily, squeezing it while he inhaled and closed his eyes. 

“Perhaps you are right,” he exhaled. 

“Like the naked thing, for instance.”

His eyelids shot open, light grey-blue and piercing irises searched your expression. When his pupils dilated- as they now always did when he looked at you- you thought that there was something... _ playful _ in them. 

“He will learn the necessity of clothing, Maina.”

Dettlaff snorted when he hugged you. 

“You can’t even take the subject seriously  _ now.” _

That being said,  _ you _ were also trying not to giggle. The image of Dacreval’s little butt running up the giant stairs  _ was _ a humorous one.

“This is what you get for mating with a vampire, my Maina.”  
Dettlaff’s deep, husky voice was on the verge of mirth, and he squeezed you to him with his arm behind your neck. You looked up at him, smelling his scent of cedarwood and something sharper. The coarse skin of his chin, made coarser by the stubbliness of his shaved beard, gently scratched your nose as he turned his gaze down to you, a toothy smile creeping onto his face despite himself. 

“Is that so?” You eyed his jagged teeth, before holding eye contact, “Regis doesn’t run around naked.” 

Dettlaff’s chin scratched your nose once more as he chuckled at the ceiling, his Adam’s apple bobbing delightfully before his attention rested back on you, his pupils, again, dilated. 

“He’s practically a human as it were,” he bit his lip, and you felt your eyes go wide before they absolutely  _ rolled _ at that statement. 

“Just,  _ join _ me in teaching our son to wear clothes, okay?” You held his handsome chin between your thumb and forefinger, “ _ okay?” _

“Yes, darling,” Dettlaff rumbled. “You look beautiful.” 

_ That _ made you sigh, but you believed, at least, that he thought so. His energy was swirling about and around you spontaneously. You felt the white and robin egg blue dress’ skirt, and listened to it  _ swish _ when you ruffled it. 

“Orianna’s going to be upset that you’ve seen me in it.” 

“Mmm,” he brought his face down to the side of your cheek and kissed it, “are you ready?”

You reached out and felt the top of his broad shoulders, feeling reassured. You nodded, “Are you, honey?”

Dettlaff held your lower back reassuringly, bringing your body near to his. “As long as you are there, my Maina.” 

That made you hum. He turned his head to the window- you watched the handsome slope of his profile and set of his jaw as he wordlessly communicated with Regis. Then, you were gone. 

  
  
  


The blades of grass on Corvo Bianco’s surrounding hillside were lazily flowing, reflecting the sun and shimmering when you opened your eyes. Dettlaff was nowhere to be seen, nor was Regis. The air smelled of lilies, and you turned your nose towards the sensation, up the hill some one hundred feet to the back of the house where the smallest congregation of people sat. Three stood. You put your hand over your brow and squinted at it. 

“Hey.” 

Geralt, who was and had been standing in the grass of the downslope next to you since you appeared, put his gloveless hand out as if to set it on your shoulder, then stopped as if he thought better of it. 

You jumped at him, hugging him. 

“Thanks for letting us use your house, Geralt.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “is it weird that I’m giving you away?”

“I thought maybe you were just late to stand with the rest,” you mumbled into his white hair, surprised that he for once didn’t smell bad. 

“The rest?” He hugged you back, “Maina, I’m the only person in the wedding party. I’m not standing.” 

“Yeah well,” you let go, and smiled at your witcher friend, who wasn’t in a doublet but a crisp, white linen shirt and nice, clean trousers. 

_ “Oh! _ Here,” you held out a flower necklace. “This is from Dacreval and Rohellec.”

Geralt lifted a brow as his cat eyes appraised it for a moment. 

“Well, I have  _ this,” _ he held out a bouquet for you, “from Orianna.”

You grabbed it while he put the long flower necklace over his head, letting it fall onto his shoulders and nodded approvingly. 

“Not bad.”

“Right.” Grinning, you put out your arm at the same moment Geralt wrapped it to his elbow.

Then he blurted, “This is possibly the weirdest thing I’ve ever done, so you know.” 

You took a deep breath, taking your first steps down the small slope to the hill towards the house... _ towards the aisle. _ Your throat was dry. Faintly you were becoming aware, as the two figures at the end of the aisle became more clear, that Geralt was blabbing. 

“I mean, gotta admit in my profession this isn’t all that regular.  _ None _ of this has been, so, yeah. Guess that's that, but...”

Regis and Dettlaff’s figures were becoming more distinct as the two of you reached the bottom of the small hill and started up the one to Corvo Bianco’s main building. It was then that you eyed the man standing between the grooms. He was fancifully dressed in garb you could only describe as  _ peacock _ -ish.

“...first told me in that jail cell all the way back in Fox Hollow and I had to-”

“Geralt,” you pat his arm, “who is that?”

“Yes?” He stopped his reminiscence and followed your gaze, “Oh, right. That’s Dandelion. Regis knows him. He might…  _ nah.” _

The hill felt like it was becoming shorter and shorter and you almost wanted to slow down. “Might  _ what?” _

“I was going to say _hit_ _on_ you, but that won’t happen. Don’t you want to savor this moment? Stop asking me about him.”  
“Weren’t you just blabbing about _jail_ or something?”

“I was recalling your history with Dettlaff and Regis which is more sentimental than wondering who the damn bard is.”

“He’s a bard?” You looked back at the man who was growing in stature, every color you’d ever seen before present in his outfit. “Makes sense.”

Your heart fluttered when the narrow, silk fabric laid down for the aisle was graced by your children’s small, furry bodies fluttering overhead, dropping petals onto it. 

_ “Damn,” _ you barely heard Geralt’s voice, “pretty cute.”

On the right side of the aisle sat a dwarf and Yennefer. On the opposite sat Orianna, Damien, and Marlene. You didn’t see any of them, though. Standing at the end of the aisle next to the peacock man were Dettlaff and Regis in their doublets. Regis’ a deep, dark emerald and black- Dettlaff’s a deep maroon and black. The raspy feeling in your throat was growing before you realized that the two, small, furry fluttering bodies were now landing on you. 

“Val, Ro,” you giggled, and they squeaked competitively back to you. A smile had bloomed on your face from the warmth of their tiny foot trails up your neck. Of course it was only right that you should have your vampire babies nestled in your hair for this ordeal. They  _ did _ deserve a good seat, you supposed. 

You were prepared to hear Geralt say something, but realized for the first time that he was no longer by your side, and that you had reclaimed your arm. The narrow silk of the aisle was in fact quite ornate, and you gasped at it beneath your feet before peering at Orianna. She looked like she was or had been crying as she smiled back at you, dabbing her eyes something fierce as the large man who you recognized as Damien offered her cloth pulled from his sleeve.

The smell of flowers on the breeze brought your attention back to the aisle. You took a deep breath as Regis bit his lower lip, looking as if he were going to wince. It made your eyes water... the way  _ his _ were set on you. He squeezed his larger mate’s hand but you didn’t see it; you only for the first time since beginning the climb up the hill and now down the aisle felt his energy. Dettlaff was  _ burning. _

As you came to a halt in front of the two of them, the pair of icy blue eyes looked nearly worried -- no, not worried. They were proud. 

Two sets of pupils dilated at you. 

“Hi,” you whispered across the silk. 

“Hi,” Dettlaff responded in a low rumble, a smile crossing his face before Regis elbowed him in the rib and gave you a stern look. 

The corner of the older vampire’s mouth, too, curled upwards in a smile. 

“Hem-hem,” the bard named Dandelion started. Dettlaff eyed the peacocked man suspiciously. 

Having cleared his throat properly, the bard flourished his hand- cutting the distance between you and your fiances. You shot Geralt a look, and saw him stifling a laugh. 

“Hello, loved ones- guests. We are gathered here today to join Maina--” the bard hesitated a beat, “...Maina Terzieff-Godefroy van der Eretein, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy and Dettlaff van der Eretein, in matrimony.” 

Dettlaff was smiling at the top of your head - you heard your children clicking mischievously. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” the bard went on, and Regis’ head snapped to him, “it’s about time they finally tie the knot. I was starting to believe they were going to wait until next  _ millennium-” _

_ Who is this guy?  _ You eyed Geralt again. He had his hand covering his mouth and was- pretty obviously- laughing. 

“...so, let us begin this ceremony!”

The bard looked at Regis.

“Do you, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, take this woman and this man to be your lawfully wedded wife and husband, to live together in matrimony, to love her and to love him, comfort her and to comfort him, honor and keep her - to honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you all shall live?”

Regis blinked, his dark eyes traveling from Dettlaff’s to meet yours. He opened his mouth- you saw the tips of his small, pointed teeth again before he closed his lips and smiled, blinking quickly.  _ Was  _ he _ going to cry? _

You too were blinking.  _ Am  _ I  _ already crying? _

Those deep, endless pools fixated on you, and he looked astonishingly different to you in that moment. 

“I do.” 

He looked up at Dettlaff and repeated, “I do.” 

The bard turned to you, next, and you realized that you were starkly unprepared for this moment. You had spent almost zero time preparing for this. Suddenly this was very real. You didn’t know how to properly control your smile, anymore. It seemed as if your face was beginning to twitch and get tense. You should have emptied the contents of your stomach and bladder before this very instant. Of that you were certain. Were you going to be sick? No, you were fine. You were fine.  _ I’m fine. _

“Do you, Maina Terzieff-Godefroy van der Eretein, take these men to be your lawfully wedded husbands, to live together in matrimony, to love them, to comfort them, to honor and keep them, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you all shall live?”

You inhaled and the air entered your lungs in three short, consecutive bursts. The inside of your eyelids looked like burnt umber as you exhaled before reopening them. You looked at Regis, whose dark eyes were back on you, then to Dettlaff, his energy swirling in infinity, his gaze fixed on you like a large wolf’s and a kitten’s. 

You really, really,  _ truly _ did.

“I do,” you bit your lip  _ hard, _ blinking faster, “of  _ course _ I do.”

Dandelion turned to Dettlaff next, but he revered the bard with a sharp, dangerous expression and, clearing his throat, stood you and Regis beside each other. 

“Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Maina Terzieff-Godefroy van der Eretein,” he paused, his deep voice shaky as he took one of your hands in his, one of Regis’ in his other. “I promise to cherish you both always, to honor and sustain you both in sickness and in health, in poverty and in prosperity, and to be true to you both in all things until death alone part us.”

It sounded natural and as if he had practiced this one of a thousand times. 

He breathed, “I do.” 

His eyes burned through you both. Heat was radiating off Regis beside you, and you edged a step closer to him. 

“May I have the rings?” Dandelion asked you...no, not you, you realized as Val fluttered down off your head, with Rohellec atop his back, and onto the bard’s hand before flying off. He gave you all one ring. Dettlaff smiled at you, and nodded towards Regis. 

“Oh,” your voice was unsteady. “Regis.”

That vampire never looked to sly. 

“Maina?” Regis smirked, and you had to grab his hand to get his ring on his finger because he apparently wanted you to struggle. He slid Dettlaff’s ring on.

You realized at this point in time that you hadn’t even looked at these rings, but a large hand was furling itself around yours, and you found Dettlaff’s icy blue eyes had a wet sheen in them as the light, cold band slid up your ring finger. It was ebony in hue, with jade colored inlays spiraling around it, writing out a vampiric word-  _ ‘serenamo’.  _

“We are connected, together, to each other,” you whispered. 

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce the three of you husband, husband, and wife!”

Dettlaff’s lips had found yours by the time the bard finished his declaration, and as you sniffled, he kissed the other vampire. 

Regis turned to you, “I can’t believe we did it.” 

“I know,” you replied, equally and genuinely amazed that the two of you had made it here. How far this barber-surgeon had come. His nostrils flared at your observing of him, and his face became ever hopeless when he closed his eyes and pulled you in, his hand on the back of your head, to kiss him. 

  
  
  
  


The after party was more of a party than you had been expecting, and you were kindly surprised at the effort put into turning Geralt’s vineyard into your wedding ceremony and reception venue. 

You sat on the porch- the rolling hills working as your view in the navy blue of the evening. The air was just beginning to get nippy, but you enjoyed that it made you feel more awake. Dettlaff had you protectively in his lap, having had a difficult time so far with the bard...the bard who wasn’t even being  _ that _ bad. Or at least, not as bad as Geralt made it sound like he could get in a surreptitious conversation you’d had with him during dinner. It was worth noting that Marlene’s cooking was very, very, decadent. So much so that the air, again, was really doing you a favor in fending off sleepiness. 

The prickly skin of Dettlaff’s muzzle greeted you again today. This time, on your shoulder and your neck instead of your nose. He hummed, and you could feel it under your thighs and through the back of your dress where your body met his chest, abdomen, and lap. Dettlaff hummed again when you blushed at his...well,  _ everything. _

“Dettlaff,” you decided you were going to dissuade him from giving everyone a show. 

“Hmm?” He hummed into your skin.

It was going to be difficult telling him  _ no _ when you were on the verge of kissing him. 

“I know that this is technically  _ our _ party, and that we  _ are _ newly-weds, and all,” you put your legs over the side of his thighs and rotated your butt, securing an arm around his shoulder as you did, so that you could better face him, “but I think I should go talk to Orianna. Or  _ we _ can. Not to mention Regis…”

“Is in the middle of telling Dandelion about how you and he met,” he put his muzzle back to your skin. His hands snaked up your legs, sending more goosebumps through you than the chill air had, and grabbed you firmly by the hips.

“Honey, I know that we’re pregnant,” you vibrated when he let out a low, satisfied growl- and that vibration did  _ not _ necessarily feel  _ bad, _ “but…”

You looked up over the bannister down to where people were dancing. It was only that nice dwarf man named Zoltan and that Dandelion whom you barely knew- and Regis seemed to know them both well enough. You supposed there was Damien, who was the weirdest guest in all of humanity but he was obviously and very impressively  _ in love _ with Orianna. You doubted anyone who wasn’t aware of how he acted cared if Dettlaff’s public displays of affection were a little...much. Even  _ Yennefer _ was being increasingly polite, today, though that could have something to do with the steady flow of Regis’ mandrake hooch to her glass. 

“Me- _nah,”_ Dettlaff’s breath warmed your ear, and you felt his grip tighten. “ _But_ _what?”_

“Nothing,” you squeezed his fleshy neck with your arm, and found the length of his nose on your cheek, before you kissed his lips. 

“Usually,” his voice was heady, “ _ I _ am the one to rub the other’s face.” 

His lips pecked yours, and you felt the palm of his hand rest on the small of your belly, “but I do like this, too, Maina.”

You kissed him and his lips parted, breathing you in. The hand you had around him was now running through his soft, dark hair where it curled at the base of his head. Your other hand went to his large face- you could feel his handsome jaw working when his tongue slipped into your mouth and he cooed. 

You could feel something becoming  _ firm _ under your seat, and Dettlaff’s hands were beginning to tremble from restraint. 

“Dettla-”

You felt yourself being vaporized and came to with his hands on your ass. You were standing on the top of the hill looking down at Corvo Bianco, suspiciously tucked within a line of trees...

“Dettlaff...”

His mouth enveloped yours, and he picked you up swiftly, your back going to his hand, which you were fairly certain was taut up against a tree’s trunk, the collision made you grunt. 

He replied, “Quickly.”

HIs voice was throaty and deeper than usual. 

“Dettla-”

His tongue dipped in next to your own- his large hand was up your skirts and held your flank, gripping you by the ass, his thumb long enough to start stroking you. The touch surprised you, and without meaning to you yapped quietly into his mouth. 

He chuckled, “I love you,” in return.

“Dett-”  
His thumb was persuasive, however, as he kissed and massaged you, holding you up against a _tree,_ and you started wanting it more. His groin replaced his thumb, and you could feel his thick erection through his doublet find its way between your labia as he gyrated against you. 

“Maina,” he becked unsteadily, and the opening to your vagina was beginning to feel particularly  _ un _ satiated as he continued. He started kissing your neck.

“Fuck me, Dettlaff,” you begged, and he squeezed you, pushing you up against him in a way that was driving you wild.

“Come for me first,” he breathed, his hip’s movements and the way he was kneading your ass, pulling you by it to his large groin was making you feel lighter. “Come for me, darling.”

He kept repeating it in your neck, in your ear. He was  _ nipping _ at you with his sharp teeth, growling, and repeating the words over and over and over. “Come for me, darling.” It was like a mantra, for that he was becoming more desperate, and his voice was just as pitchy as your own when you started calling his name, trying to bring his chest - his body closer to you despite him kissing your jaw and the size difference. He held your ass firmly and moaned with you as he quickened his pace and repeated his demand. You started to come against him. He moaned into you when you brought his mouth to yours as you came for him, fistfulls of his dark hair in your grips, his cheekbones under your palms, the curve of his shoulders clasped by your fingers. Him trying to give you everything you needed, everything you were asking for.

“Dettlaff,” you whimpered as you started descending, feeling calmer, but his energy was peaking. 

He pulled aside your small clothes, and you felt the skin of his shaft rub against you this time. 

“ _ Maina,” _ he groaned, his voice deep. 

Then, he hoisted you up, no longer using the tree, and you drove you down onto him - breaching you in one fluid movement. 

“ _ Fuck, hun--ney,” _ the force of his hard cock driving into you made you yap. Dettlaff grabbed hold of your hips in  _ one _ hand, and held your back so that you were firmly pressed against his front. His long, thick, and solid erection bucking into you and staying there in  _ long, circular _ intervals. 

“ _ Maina,” _ Dettlaff started to whine unabashedly, his hands staying tight on you but working your body,  _ feeling _ you in every way - as if he absolutely couldn’t get enough of you. He was whining your name more than a man with a voice as low as his should be able to, and finally with a last thrust, he stayed deep,  _ deep, _ inside. He was still trying to pull you further onto him despite being up against his base. Deep within you the fat head of his cock was teasing to make the sensation painful, and when he jut again, a warm, thick, viscous liquid began to drip out of your opening, rolling down to your ass. He shuddered, and his dick did too, twitching, still releasing his seed. 

“I love you,” Dettlaff whispered into your neck, and his hand went around the back of it beneath your hairline, engulfing the round of your skull with ease before he kissed you, pushing himself further inside you. 

Finally, his lips still working against yours, he pulled out and shuddered. 

“That was nice,” you whispered. 

“Yes,” you thought you heard a low, quiet chuckle, “yes it was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW's: Descriptions of a woman having sex with a vampire man with wedding garb on.


	30. Dettlaff Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dettttlaaaaff! <3 Sorry the process pics are literally just _bad_ photos of my tablet screen lmao


	31. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a piece of art in this chapter I made today! I'll post the sketch for it in last the last chapter. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy reading! :) <3

Dettlaff carried you down the hill around the side of Corvo Bianco. You could hear crickets chirping and someone softly strumming a lute. 

“It seems the party has grown,” Dettlaff murmured into your neck with an air of distaste. His fingers tightened around your thighs as he took the steps back up to the porch and frowned down at the lawn. There indeed was a good few more people dancing now, and a few of the bodies you recognized as Geralt’s vineyard workers. 

“Good thing our kids are asleep,” you replied, sifting your hand through his dark, silky locks to soothe him. “Wonder how the locals will respond to a three way marriage.”

Dettlaff’s body rumbled against you as he sat, with you in his arms, back on the bench. You gave his coarse cheek a peck. 

“This feels right,” you rested your head on his shoulder. 

“Mmm,” he nestled his head against yours. 

“I’m going to find Regis,” you sighed, observing the now quite busy hubbub below you. Regis was speaking with a dark haired woman...it seemed to you he was introducing her to Geralt. _That would be quite the development,_ you thought, _Geralt with a love interest._ You unlaced your arm from Dettlaff’s neck, and he held you tighter. 

“Stay with me,” he pressed, “there are too many humans here, now.” 

“Honey,” you tried to ignore how this made him absolutely pur, “you’re making this very difficult.” You held his face in your hands and it was hard not to laugh at how warm and pleading his icy eyes could be. “Come with me if you don’t want to be alone.” 

The downsloping lawn had a crowd of at least thirty people now, and you found Regis in the middle of it speaking to Orianna, who still had the rather large ducal guard captain at her side. Damien nodded at you when you approached...it was nearly a _bow,_ even. _Surprising._

“Hey Damien,” you smirked at your own nonchalance as Orianna hugged you. He blinked, eyes flickering to his date, but didn’t say anything. His jaw _did_ flex, however, and that made your smirk widen. Regis shook his head at you. 

“How is your night going?” She asked, arching a brow, “Haven’t seen you since dinner, and it looks as though you’ve ruffled your skirts.” 

You blushed, and now it was _Damien_ who was smirking at Orianna, but you couldn’t answer, because Regis was pulling you backwards by the elbow to where people were dancing. 

“I quite thought that it would take you well into the morning to dance with me,” he began over the lute sound of lute and laughter.

“Dettla-”

“Enough of that,” he tugged, “ _he’s_ already had his dance or five with me.” 

“But I can’t dance, Regis,” you stumbled to turn around in the grouping of unfamiliar faces. Just as you did, Regis caught your other arm and positioned you facing him directly. You didn’t like the wicked smile lingering on his mouth. 

“I can teach you.”

“Oh _no,”_ you moaned. 

“We start like this,” he smiled, letting his teeth be bared- not caring who saw them, and took a step closer to you. Looking up into his laughing dark eyes, you pouted, and he wrapped his right arm around you, taking your left hand in his. “Hold me by the shoulder with your right arm.” You did. “Try not to watch my feet _too_ much. I will be leading you.”

“ _You’ll_ be leading _me?”_

He blinked, “well, should you not know how to dance I can hardly see how you should know how to _lead,_ my dear.”  
He took a step, and without thinking, you followed. 

“I’m sure I _could_ lead if I tried,” you bit your lip, “especially if _you_ can do it.”

Regis took another step, and you followed. He side eyed you narrowly. 

“ _Oh?”_ His grip on your side tightened.

“Oh!” You mocked. 

Suddenly you tripped over his foot shuffling into yours, and he caught you by the elbow, standing you back up and _close_ beside him. His teeth were very near to your face, and he took your side back in his hand. His brow was arched on his amused face. 

“I must say, you certainly did a good job of it just then,” he said in your ear, taking another step. 

Snorting, you held him more closely. “You’re a brat.” 

“Mm,” he stepped, and you followed. It sounded to you like he was immensely satisfied, “a very good one, you might add.”

You put your mouth to his shoulder and smelled him. His usual medley of herbs had worn off, and what was left was an increasingly lovely natural odor. “Regis,” your cheek was against his shoulder. You were getting a little sleepy, though this dance was becoming more and more pleasant. “You smell like yourself right now.”

“Oh dear.”  
“No,” you smiled, and were caressed by the soft hair of his sideburns when he tenderly dipped his face against yours, “I like it.”

You felt his smile against your cheek as he swayed you into another small step, “I know.”

The music had already ended when Regis' feet stopped moving, and you jolted slightly. 

“My,” Regis’ dark eyes were peering down at you in fascination, he was holding you firmly and softly, “I shall never truly get used to how easily you run out of energy, Maina.”

“Where’s Dettlaff?” You realized that you weren’t actually standing, or dancing, Regis was carrying you in his arms. 

“Home, with the children,” his eyes really could reflect every star in the sky. You yawned, vaguely you realized there were no candles or lanterns, and heard clicking of heels against something hard. 

“Where are we?” You reached up and rubbed his chin with your thumb, and he smiled. 

“Beauclair. We’re nearly home.” 

“What?” 

Regis looked up at the night sky.

“The air feels right, tonight,” he replied, “and I was enjoying the feeling of you in my arms,” his dark eyes wandered from the inky sky above back to where he held you, “so I wrapped you in my jacket and walked us.” 

You held his gaze, observed the way it twinkled at you. 

“Did you enjoy today?” You moved on to gently hold his cheek, and yawned. 

“Indeed I did,” he closed his eyes, and a few moments later added quietly, “every bit of it.” 

Closing _your_ eyes again, you felt the rise and fall of his chest. You listened to the clicking of his heels on cobblestones until you were faintly aware of that familiar squeaking of the side gate to your estate. You yawned heartily, and Regis answered with a soft chuckle and a kiss to your cheek. You hadn’t heard the house door being opened or closed, when Dettlaff’s deep baritone asked quietly, “how was it?”

Regis hummed. “Are they asleep?”

You blinked, and saw Dettlaff’s form getting larger - no, closer. You blinked a few more times; he was smiling down at you. 

“Good,” Regis replied, “I don’t feel like cleaning up.”

“You don’t need to whisper,” you interrupted yourself with a yawn, “I’m awake.” 

“Hm hm,” Dettalff’s lips curved upwards, and you could feel his fingers running through your hair as your eyes closed again, “of course you are, little acern ara.” 

“Let’s go upstairs,” Regis whispered to him. The next thing you could feel were two sets of hands undoing your fabric bindings - for that you were grateful if only half aware. 

Finally, you flopped down on the bed, shortly nestled on either side by two chests, propped up on top of two bodies where they met each other. You yawned, stretching out your legs straight through your toes and were met with several limbs. 

“Hmm,” you hummed; the vampires hummed back. Dettlaff’s energy was seductively buoyant and lulling. With another yawn, you piped out, “I’d say today was a success.” 

You felt the ring around your finger. 

“I love you both so much,” you yawned even more. 

“You are adorable when you are so tired,” Dettlaff was still speaking in a hushed tone, his breath against the top of your head. The windows were open, and you could feel the cooling Toussaint breeze. You could _smell_ the cooling Toussaint breeze in its night air. 

“It is rather evident she doesn’t want this day to end,” Regis was smiling, you could hear it in his voice, “with all of this resisting.”

“These sheets are new,” they were ridiculously silky. 

“Oh my, she’s on about the sheets,” Regis was _very_ amused.

Dettlaff yawned, scooting down so that his face was next to yours and you were both nestled in Regis’ arms. He kissed your cheek, “she’s right, Regis.” 

You panicked, “Where are our children?”

Regis snorted, “asleep, dear.” 

The older vampire pulled you closer, Dettlaff scooting up to you as he did. 

“They need to eat,” you yawned.

“I fed them,” Dettlaff yawned back. 

“Will you,” Regis yawned, “cut this chit chat out.” 

The breeze rolled in, and cradled between their bodies, you cut the chit chat out. 

  
  


In the morning you woke against the familiar feeling of Dettlaff’s fleshy chest rising and falling against your cheek. Sunlight was flooding in through your bedroom’s abundant number of windows. It warmed your skin where it was bare, and made you feel more than anything, _balmy._

Without waking the larger vampire, you slid out from under the sheets, the covers having long been kicked down by one of the three you to the end of the bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress you observed the room in a sleepy daze; the checkered marble was pleasantly cool on the pads of your feet. On the chair next to the desk and vanity hung jade and black fabric. 

_Hmm._ With a stretch you nimbly walked over to the chair and inspected the garment. It was silky and soft and...you held it up; there were two. _Robes?_

One was _much_ larger than the other, which you decided must be Dettlaff’s, and slipped into the jade. 

_Did Regis get us all...do these match our rings?_

Covering your mouth, you tiptoed out of the bright room, down the stairs one flight and to the end of the hall to the study - more recently turned _nursery._ You pressed your ear to the door and listened. 

“Maina,” you heard Regis’ slightly muffled voice, “I know you’re just outside. I can smell you, remember? You also take impressively heavy steps. I _do_ mean impressively. I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’re flat footed?”

 _“Okay,_ that’s enough,” you flung open the door mid word and saw Regis grinning cheekily. You looked at Dacreval and Rohellec, who were sitting in front of him, Dacreval in his human form, Rohellec in her bat form, “everyone pounce on dad.” 

Val’s full-bodied face lit up, his eyes full of mischief, Rohellec squeaking and chirping happily as they had a go. Regis feigned utter panic and rolled onto his back histrionically. You gently nested yourself between his legs, enjoying the scene propped up on your elbows. 

Val’s eyes went to you before he tried climbing on your back. “Good morning, Dacreval, how are you?”

“Good,” he piped up, “Regis is teaching me how to read.”

_“Oh.”_

Regis acknowledged your surprised expression. 

“Vampire maturation,” he reached out and touched you by the chin, “development and ensuing drabble.” 

“Thank you for paraphrasing,” you rolled your eyes, putting your cheek to his palm. From the feeling of fullness, you knew it was time to feed Rohellec and helped guide her under your robe, much to the delight of your mate. “You know, Regis, just because we’re married doesn’t mean we all need matching robes.”

“These ridiculous accoutrements came free of charge with the rings,” he raised his brows. 

“Hm.” You stared at him until he blushed.

“What? Fine, I had them made. It was a deal, though. I assure you.”

“Mmhm. Dacre, do you know how old I was when I learned how to read?’

Your son rolled off your back with a small thud and wiggled his way up next to you, rear end to the marble, “no,” he smiled, gripping his hands in the other. 

“I was almost fifteen,” you said matter of factly and watched his eyes get wide. 

“Nuhuh!” He giggled, shaking his head and growing dark pink. 

“It’s true,” you nodded. 

“My,” Regis was _also_ wide eyed, “ _fifteen?”_

“Yes, and I’m _lucky_ I was able to,” you felt your face actually getting warm by his scrutiny, “humans don’t learn how to read in the north like they do here, Regis.” 

You heard how defensive it sounded. 

“And so you sought it out?” He smiled, his eyes softening. 

“I did,” you fished Rohellec out from beneath your robe, helping her detach. If you didn’t guide her off you, she often drank until she was engorged. 

“Is she finished yet?” Regis fretted, looking at his daughter. 

“Yes, she’s finished,” you stifled a laugh, “Rohellec just happens to be pretty similar to her dad when it comes to breastmilk, isn’t that right, Rohellec?”

Her little eyes lit up and she chirped, proud to be similar to her father.

“Oh don’t rope her into that,” he barked, hoisting you up to his chest by your armpits, “ _that_ is between you and I...matters of _husband_ and _wife.”_

Your face got even warmer, “I suppose it is.”

“Rohellec, Dacre, I’d like to send you on a covert mission-”

“What is it?” Val almost shouted, interrupting Regis and standing directly over him. Regis looked at you, then back to your son, fighting to keep his face even. 

“To go and wake up baba Dettlaff,” his eyes narrowed conspiratorially, and both Rohellec and her older brother fled from the room. You could Val’s clunky steps on the stairs and calls for Rohellec to ‘wait up’.

Regis stared at you, “he’s a bit like his father, conversationally speaking.” 

“You mean socially awkward?”

“Mm,” he nodded, smiling, “he still has time, yet.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it,” the edge of your mouth curved, “in fact I like it.”

Regis’ smile extended to his eyes, and he bit his lip, “good.”

You played with his robe, which was also jade. 

“Why does Dettlaff have the only ebony one?”

Regis shrugged, “I think they believed it was two _women_ and a man getting married.”

You both huffed, then the mirth fell from his face overall, and became tepid. 

“Will you be visiting Pierre? He seems to have changed quite a bit.”

You found that difficult to believe, “how so?” 

Regis brows knit, “you _know_ how so, Maina.”

“Uhhh,” you rolled off of him and onto your back next to where he lay. You’d been avoiding this. Pierre had been let out of custody three days before the wedding under supervision of the Ducal Guard and a doctor. It wasn’t that it was nonsensical to believe he’d changed- in fact it made every _sense_ that he had. Only when it came to Pierre, after everything had happened, you found that you were starkly unreliant on sensibilities. 

In short, you were afraid of being hurt again. 

“Me- _nah.”_

“You sound like Dettlaff when you do that,” you whined, closing your eyes from the sculpted mahogany ceiling.

Regis laughed, “I thought it worth a try. You seem to at least listen to _him.”_

You peeked to see his face an inch from yours, his eyes taking up most of your vision. 

“Gah,” you groaned, flopping your arm at one side, wrapping your other around his neck and pulling him close to you. “Fine.”

“There we are,” he breathed, pressing his face to yours. You inhaled. 

“Regis,” you smelled him again.

“I know,” he mumbled, his voice suddenly losing its confidence, “well, you said you enjoyed my natural scent so I only…”

“I do,” you smiled, “I’m glad.” 

Regis sat up, pulling you with him. 

“And I’m glad that _you’re_ glad. Now let’s go, before Dettlaff realizes where we’re headed.” 

He clapped his oversized hands together and stood, bringing you up to a stand, then walking to the door. 

You cocked your head, “but I thought?”

“Oh, no, no no, _no,”_ Regis snorted, briskly walking to you and tugging you with him to closet in the hallway, where he kept his personal stash of what you had assumed were all pathetically worn out soft trousers, “he would try to slice me open for this.” 

He handed you one of his shirts and indeed, a pair of old trousers. 

“So?” You started putting on the clothes getting amused. From overhead you both heard Dettlaff laughing, and Regis slapped your hand from the shirt and started buttoning it for you. 

“How on earth is it that you cannot button,” he mumbled. “ _So,_ you are both living in _fear_ and I won’t have it.” 

“Yeah well,” you finished putting on your trousers, realizing at the same time that you really didn’t have a rebuttal for that. 

“Precisely,” he took your hand and dragged you down the hall. He barely let you grab a sweet cake from the counter before ushering you out the door, up the steps to the estate wall and out the front gate. 

It sounded heavy when it slammed shut and clanged from the metal _locks_. 

“How many of these have you put on?” You asked over a mouthful of cake. He blushed, stretching. Apparently there was no rush now that you were out of the estate, because he took you by the elbow and began leisurely strolling northwards down the street, then taking a left, up the sloping cobblestone to Gran Place.

“What is Dettlaff going to think?” You fell into the common practice if giving dirty looks to anyone whose glances at Regis were a bit _overdrawn._

“I left him a note.”

“When? Oh, Regis. You’re scandalous, do you know that?”

He pursed his lips together and let his eyes get wide, “I can’t believe you’ve called me that.” 

“Can you blame me?” You snorted, eyeing the shops as you passed them.

“Not at all, in fact I rather like it.” 

He smiled with the tips of his fangs out, closing the distance between your strides. He growled into your neck, and your laughter echoed through the small stone hall out of Gran Place towards the main street.

“ _Regis,”_ you finally pushed his face away, then fell silent. 

“Maina I will be there with you,” he squeezed you. “You are a strong individual,” he slowed to halt, and held you by the arms, “and I don’t want this to become a point of consumption.”  
“How do you mean?” Your eyes wandered away from his reassuring face up the main street. The palace was standing in the background across the bridge, and halfway to that bridge on the right hung a sign for a tailor shop. You shivered. 

Regis shook you and closed his eyes, sighing, before opening them _meaningfully_ , “ _that’s_ what I mean, my dear.” 

He held your face. 

“I know,” you blushed, “you’re right.” The storefront stood like a dead weight. “Let’s get this over with.”  
Regis didn’t say anything when you reached the door. He just looked at you expectantly then nodded, giving it a knock. When no one answered, he gaped through the window.

“It’s closed,” he observed. 

“Oh! That is too bad, isn’t it? Huh. Well, _shoot._ We’ll have to come back,” you stopped when you saw him roll his eyes. 

“No need.” He took your arm in his again.

“What?” 

“He’s around the corner, I can smell him.”

Up the hill and down a few steps to the right was a stone landing with a few chairs. You’d seen several people paying gwent there, women being wooed by hopefuls, and artists trying to sell their works on this small landing on numerous occasions prior, but you’d never witnessed it this quiet, you realized as you approached it. 

Pierre was sitting with his back towards the street, looking contemplatively at the lake. Ducal guardsmen were standing on the other side of the road, keeping their distance but obviously also keeping a sharp eye. 

It was very breezy on this side of the lake today. 

“Pierre,” Regis strolled up to his flank, causing him to jump. Your mate looked back towards you, then back down at the katakan, “may we join you?”

Pierre’s expression tightened for a moment, and it seemed almost _regretfully_ that he peered back in your direction and swallowed. 

He then regarded the lake. 

“You may.” 

Regis gave you an encouraging face and pulled up a chair for you to sit in. You slowly approached it, and sat. 

“Pierre here was telling me the other day how much he regrets what he did to you.” Both you and Pierre shot Regis a look. He rolled his eyes, “well, I thought I should get the ball rolling.”

Pierre hunched _more_ in his seat. “It’s true. I am ashamed and...how do you say...twisted up inside about it. I...I don’t remember much and…”  
His head slouched. 

“I do not expect your forgiveness.” 

Feeling a little more bold you looked at Regis, and he stood. 

“I shall give you a little space,” he eyed Pierre sternly, “a _little.”_

That evidently sent the katakan over the edge, and he started to cry. 

“Pierre,” you stood, taking Regis’ unoccupied chair. You set your hand on his back, to your own surprise, and let him cry for a while. 

“Please believe me that I am remorseful,” he said, finally.

You looked at him, and he looked back...and you don’t know what did it or why, but you felt your mouth begin to smile. There was, despite all of the remorse he held in his face, just this twinkling in his eye when he looked at you. Maybe that’s what did it. You saw that he was beginning to smile, too. It seemed ridiculous, in all honesty, but for no reason at all, you couldn’t help but start to laugh.

In fact, _he_ started laughing with you, and you both sat there laughing until you were nearly crying yourself, and had to wipe the corner of your eye and catch your breath. 

“That was quite a journey, these past few months.”

“Oh you have no idea,” he breathed, then his face became pensive and he began laughing again, “come to think of it, _I_ actually have no idea.”

“You don’t remember it?”

“No,” he blushed, “No, I do, but I felt like I was... dazed, I think. There were times before that when I would start to feel this dazed way, but it never lasted very long.” He looked at you over his glasses, leaning in, “you know, I just thought I was kind of,” he gestured upwards, twirling with his hands into the air, “ _aloof.”_ He shrugged, “Then from last winter, it is as if I was gliding through the air...but not really.” He frowned, “not really... _there.”_

“Hmm,” you contemplated a moment, “I was told that doors can lay somewhat dormant for a while, maybe that’s what happened to you. Yours woke up.”

He stared at the lake. “I am sorry.”

You watched him, and it did seem like he was different, now, and it did seem like he was irrevocably harmed by the experience. Most of all it _did_ seem like he was sorry. “I think I know that, now.”

“Will you come by the shop, sometimes?” He asked, still not looking away from the lake. 

You peered back to Regis; he pursed his lips and sighed. It made sense to you that _he_ couldn’t tell you what the right answer was. 

“I will,” you replied, “from time to time.”

He nodded, slowly.

“Thank you.”

On the way back to the house, Regis asked, “How was that?”

“I think it was good,” you took his hand, and saw that he was concerned, “thank you, Regis.” 

“So,” he adjusted his strap with his free hand, “what shall we tell Dettlaff the hold up was while window shopping?”

You eyed the slope up to your house, “We’ll tell him the truth.”

“Sanctimonious as ever,” he sighed, “very well.” 

He gave you a side smile, and you continued walking home hand in hand.


End file.
